by Bryan Davis
Her father burst through the flames. With his clothes on fire, he jerked Gregor’s arm away and pulled Marcelle into an embrace. “Hang on. I’ll get you out of here.”
As she stared at his desperate face, the raining dust thickened until it veiled her vision. She fell away from his grasp, feeling only a plunging sensation. Every sight, every sound, every other feeling vanished. Then, nothingness.
* * *
THIRTEEN
* * *
MARCELLE looked around. She lay on a bed of leaves and straw. A flickering light somewhere sent a shaft of wavering radiance over her, dimly illuminating the room. Small, half-naked bodies lay across the floor, one on each of her sides, pressing her arms in, while others sprawled in haphazard array, some intertwining limbs or even lying partially on top of one another. Steady breathing proved that they were alive, probably sleeping.
Finding the lantern sitting on a table to her left, she studied a man who sat in its glow, his back against the wall—Frederick. He held a boy nestled in his left arm and a girl curled in his right. His eyes were closed and his head hung low. He, too, appeared to be asleep.
In front and to her right, a young male stood at an open door. Bearing a sword and leaning against the jamb, he seemed to be guarding the entry, but with his own head bobbing, he was obviously ready to join the others in slumber.
She scanned the rest of the dim room. This was the same cabin she had been in before when she faced Drexel and scared him away. Where was Adrian? Could he be patrolling somewhere outside?
Sliding her fingers across her trousers, she felt the material— wetter than merely damp. She sniffed the air. Although the odor of sweaty bodies hovered close, no hint of urine infiltrated the scent. For some reason, she had been bathed with her clothes on.
She closed her eyes and pondered the data. The children sleeping in close quarters meant newly escaped slaves had come to Frederick’s wilderness refuge, maybe dozens. Apparently major developments had occurred in the world of Starlight. Yet, since they still needed protection in this cabin, they weren’t free yet. The dragons must still be trying to capture them.
She turned her head toward Frederick and tried to speak, but her voice barely managed a whisper. “Frederick?”
He didn’t flinch.
Summoning all her strength, she pushed out a groan. Frederick’s head bobbed for a moment, but his eyes stayed closed.
A whisper brushed her ear. “Are you all right?”
Marcelle turned her head toward the sound. The lantern light shone on a familiar face. Calling for another breath, she whispered in reply. “Shellinda?”
Smiling broadly, she nodded. “Frederick said to sleep close to you in case you need anything.” She rose to her knees and looked Marcelle over. “So … do you need anything?”
Marcelle lifted a hand and pointed at Frederick. “Him.”
“I’ll be right back.” Shellinda shot up and tiptoed around the sleeping bodies. When she reached Frederick, she touched his shoulder and whispered into his ear. His eyes flashed open, and, after setting the children to the side, he sprang toward Marcelle.
He stepped over her and knelt at the spot Shellinda had occupied. “What is it?” he asked, his voice spiking with concern.
She curled a finger, gesturing for him to lean close. When he complied, she whispered, “Captain Reed.”
“Yes, I know Captain Reed. What about him?”
“He will lead the army.”
Frederick straightened, twisting his lips as if trying to hide a condescending smile. “Oh. Right. The invading army you’re sending.”
With a surge of strength, she grabbed his tunic and jerked him closer. “Don’t … be … difficult!”
“Okay! Okay!” Frederick slid his hand into hers and gently loosened her grip on his tunic. Keeping their hands clasped, he stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “If you want me to believe you, you have to give me some proof. I mean, you have to admit that what you’re telling me is pretty far-fetched.”
Closing her eyes, Marcelle exhaled. He was right. Why should he believe this crazy story? She summoned another breath and whispered, “I have no proof.”
She forced her eyelids up. Frederick gazed at her, his beard still disguising the face she once knew so well. Still, his eyes were unmistakable, so much like Adrian’s, yet more analytical, more brutally logical. He would be far less likely to succumb to a Starlighter’s charms.
Frederick gave her a nod. “Let’s say, for the sake of your sanity, that you really are in touch with our world, with Major Four. What do you want me to do?”
“I am … spirit there. … Must unite with … my body.” She patted her chest with her free hand. “This body.”
“Should I take you somewhere? The healing spring didn’t seem to help.”
“Northlands. … Portal.”
“Yes, I know about that portal, but it’s a long way off, and I have more than forty kids to take care of. Drexel has already kidnapped one and killed another.”
“Where … is Adrian?”
“I haven’t seen him. From what I can gather from the kids, he went back to the spring searching for Drexel and the missing girl. Just guessing, but it’s been long enough for him to search quite a bit, so I’m hoping he’ll come back soon.”
Her arm trembling, she reached up and grabbed his bicep. His muscles felt toned and hard. “Will he take me … to the portal?”
“Like I said, I haven’t seen him. I was unconscious when he hauled me out of my hunting pit, and when I woke up, he was gone. So I can’t be sure, but knowing Adrian, he’ll do whatever you ask. You know how chivalrous he is.”
“Yes.” Marcelle let her hand fall to the floor. “I know.” She closed her eyes. It had taken so much effort to move and talk. But she had to make sure Adrian got the message. She had to get her spirit and body reunited. The moment her spirit stepped back into Starlight, she would vanish again. Who would lead the troops south then? They would think it was a trick, that a sorceress had led them to an icy wilderness in order to trap them. And warning them in advance about her disappearing act probably wouldn’t work. Even if they believed her, they wouldn’t want to be led into a land of dragons by someone who would vanish before the battle began. They would cry “sorceress!” and have an excuse to stay home.
Her heart thumped. A sorceress. That’s right! She had just been burned at the stake! Had the shock made her forget? Since she still could connect with her body, didn’t that mean her spirit survived the flames? If so, how? And what happened to Father, Dunwoody, and Gregor? The only way to find out would be to try to disconnect from Starlight and return to Major Four. But could she? Had the fire damaged her fabricated body too much?
With a final effort, she opened her eyes and whispered again, “Tell Adrian … to do … whatever love tells him.”
As if sinking into the floor, she dropped away from Frederick. His face and the surrounding room looked like a fuzzy ball flying into the darkness. Seconds later, the ball disappeared. Then, from the opposite direction, a new light drew closer. Shaped like a rectangle, grayish white and undulating, it looked like a smoky curtain floating down from the sky.
The curtain draped her body, warm and wet, as if someone had dipped a blanket in hot, sooty water and spread it over her. It felt heavy, suffocating. She tried to push against it, but her arm wouldn’t move. Yet, it did move … slowly. She turned, trying to swing her arm around. As the curtain swung with her, it felt lighter, as if fanning out. She spun faster. The curtain lifted higher. Finally, it slung away.
She slowed her rotation. Dizzy, she tried to blink. Light filtered through her partially open lids. A pile of scorched wood lay around, wet and smoking. The gallows stood to her right, and the pillory to her left. Straight ahead lay the governor’s palace, a high-noon sun gleaming off its central dome.
Marcelle looked around. No one was in sight. Somehow she had survived the execution and reconstituted herself from her own ashes. The wet wo
od might mean that Father had managed to douse the fire after all.
“Psst!”
She turned toward the sound. Someone waved from the crawlspace under the gallows. While glancing in every direction, she skulked that way. When she arrived, she stooped low and looked into the open access panel. Dunwoody peeked out, his eyes wide. “Get under here before somebody sees you!”
As soon as she scooted in, he handed her a bulky black cloak. “Put this on. It should be big enough to hide your shape.”
Marcelle ran the material through her fingers, searching for a sleeve. “What is it for?”
“You are short enough to pass as a young teenager.”
“I know. I’ve done it before.” She slid her arms through the sleeves and raised the hood. “What’s the occasion?”
“You are now an orphan named Ophelia.”
“An orphan?” She lifted an arm, making the baggy sleeve ride down to her elbow. “That explains the mourning cloak.”
“I chose this deception with the cloak in mind. It will keep your identity hidden.” He patted the cloak’s side near her waist. “Your mirror is in the pocket. I found it in the ashes. It appeared to be unharmed.”
“Oh!” She pushed her hand inside and felt the familiar shape. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He touched the edge of her hood. “Do you know the rules regarding female orphans?”
She nodded. “They are to cover their faces in public, and no man is allowed to touch them, but I can’t remember why.”
“No man except for a prospective father. He alone may lower your hood to see your face. It is a tradition, of sorts. A girl without a father is vulnerable to the lusts of predatory men, so if she shows her face, such vile men might be tempted to take advantage of her vulnerability. So, as the logic goes, a true gentleman refrains from touching an orphan girl, lest others think him depraved.” He touched a scabbard on the ground next to him. “And this sword will help you in case you run into one of the depraved sorts.”
Smiling, Marcelle pinched the hood closed in front of her face. “You have chosen well.”
“Actually, your father conceived the plan.” He pushed a folded parchment into her hand. “This order will secure a guide for you at the front entrance.”
“I assume Drexel is no longer on duty there.”
He shook his head. “No one has seen him in quite some time. How did you know?”
“It would take too long to explain.” She looked at the order. “What does it say? Give me a summary.”
“Your parents died yesterday, so you are in mourning. You are supposed to report to the orphan administrator. I have arranged for you to be transferred temporarily to the care of Captain Reed.”
“Perfect. Where did he go after the execution?”
“Home. Well, to the tunnel. After you dissolved, I escaped while Orion’s men were still somewhat hypnotized. Some guards came looking for me in the archives, so I listened in on their conversation. I gathered only snippets, but it seems that Orion made up a grandiose story about how a certain kind of sorceress crumbles when subjected to heat. Supposedly, this type of witch is also able to conjure phantoms and hypnotize those who watch them. With you destroyed, he declared a holiday for all officers.”
Marcelle rolled her fingers into a fist. “So he succeeded in ruining my credibility. Our plan did no good at all. The men will be too cowardly to join us.”
“Not so fast. Try to suppress your disdain for masculine responsibility for a moment. My gender might surprise you if you don’t watch out.”
“I judge what I see.” She shot him an icy glare. “The men went home. They didn’t listen.”
Dunwoody touched his chest. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Right,” she said with a nod. “What’s your point?”
Laughing softly, he shook his head. “Think, girl! Think! Why should I be here right now?”
“I don’t know. As far as you could tell, the flames burned me to a heap of ashes. You had no reason at all to be here.”
“That’s exactly my point! If I was the irresponsible fool you paint men to be, I would have shrugged my shoulders and gone on as a collector of dusty documents, squirreled away in my cozy little hole with my feet propped up while perusing an old tome that no other eyes have seen.” He raised a finger. “But, no! I am a man! I have faith! I believed in you!” He grabbed her bicep and compressed it. “I believed in the strength of a woman, and not just any woman. I believed in a woman who doubted my gender’s faithfulness. I believed in—”
“Cut the crowing, Professor!” She jerked her arm away. “Just tell me why you’re here!”
“Well …” Still on his knees, he clasped his hands and pressed his thumbs together. “Actually, I was back in my cozy little hole with my feet propped up while perusing an old tome that no other eyes have seen.”
“Oh, so your self-aggrandizing speech was just—”
“Wait a minute!” he said, lifting a hand. “Let me finish. There was a method to my masculine moorings.”
She nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Dunwoody had worked a long time on this presentation. She might as well let him entertain himself. “Go ahead.”
“Well,” he said, gesturing with his hands, “I was curious about Leo’s lie-detecting rope. I returned here wearing the orphan’s cloak and found a section of the rope still attached to the gallows, so I pocketed a sample of it and took it with me to the archives. Suspecting that the crystals in the rope are somehow related to Dracon, I hoped to find something in the dragon’s journal. So, there I was, sitting in my tunnel and reading the tome, just as I said. Then, on page one-fifty-five, I saw it. Arxad described a large, spherical crystal that is capable of absorbing a spirit. He wrote much about its properties, including the curious idea that dragon fire might be able to destroy it. As I indicated concerning the male Starlighter, it seems strange that an intelligent beast such as Arxad would believe that one fire’s destructive qualities exceed another’s.
“And there is more.” Lowering his voice to a rasping whisper, he pulled a piece of burnt rope from his pocket and shook it in front of her face. “Arxad’s large crystal also divines between truth and lies in the very same way these small ones do.”
“That’s all well and good, Professor, but you still haven’t explained why you came here.”
“Must I spell it out for you?” He pointed toward the burning stake. “The place where you stood is littered with these shards. Leo has already come twice to collect them, but the embers were still too hot. It was a strange sight. Although he carried fireplace tongs, he seemed quite hesitant to get close to the embers, as if terrified by the heat. Yet, I was able to retrieve your mirror. It was blazing hot near the stake, to be sure, but it was tolerable. Anyway, while I was reading, the thought struck me that the crystals might have absorbed your spirit as your shell crumbled around you, thereby protecting you from the flames. You see, Arxad wrote that intense heat initiates a spirit’s migration into the crystal, so I hoped that you would escape and reconstitute yourself when the environment cooled. Perhaps Leo wants to gather your remains, but his flawed timing worked to our benefit. I assume he will be back again, so we cannot linger here.”
“Professor, you’re brilliant!” She threw her arms around him. “And masculine!”
He returned the embrace. “Yes, ’tis true. I risked a lot coming here.”
She pulled back. “Why didn’t you collect the crystals when you picked up my mirror?”
He showed her the section of rope again. “I grabbed this while I could, but I saw that Leo was on his way, so I hurried to this hiding place. The other crystals were still fiery hot, and there was no way to collect them all in time, so I hoped you might be in one of these. I was wrong, to be sure, but it all worked out.”
“What would you have done if Maelstrom’s timing was better? I mean, what if he collected the crystals before they cooled enough for me to escape?”
“I do
n’t know.” He winked. “Gone back to reading dusty tomes, I suppose.”
She gave him a shove. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“Suit yourself.” He touched her cloak’s sleeve. “No time to chatter. We need to get this new plan started.”
“You’re right.” She pushed the adoption order into an outer pocket and fastened the cloak in front with a silver sash. “Where is my father?”
“In the upper court’s holding cell. Considering Leo’s thinly veiled threats, I think Orion is worried about a forced takeover of his office. He will want all government money secured only for himself, so holding your father serves his purposes.”
“That makes sense.” She began smoothing out the sleeves. “Is Gregor with my father?”
Drooping his head, Dunwoody replied in a whisper. “Gregor died in the flames.”
She stopped in midstroke. “Oh. … I’m sorry.”
“Yes, he was a good man, a good friend, actually. He often brought me letters sent to prisoners in the dungeon. They didn’t have anywhere to keep the letters after reading them, so Gregor told them the archives would welcome the historical records.” Dunwoody sighed and shook his head. “What a shame … what a crying shame.”
Marcelle took his hand. “Then we will fight back. We will get my father out of prison, strike Orion in the heart, and end this reign of tyranny.”
“I agree. But how? You still have slaves on Dracon to rescue.”
She peeked out from under the gallows and looked at the pile of smoking wood. Somehow she had to return to Dracon with an army, find Adrian, reunite with her body, and march against the cruel dragons. “Yes … I know. But the men—”
“Trust me. The men will come if they have a leader. When you meet Captain Reed as his newly adopted daughter, you just have to convince him of the truth.”
