Fire Lines

by Cara Thurlbourn

  My eyes are swollen. Tears threaten, but I promised myself when we went over the wall that I’d be strong.

  “That’s enough,” says Tsam softly.

  “No. It’s not enough. From now on, one of us is with her at all times. She’s not to be trusted.”

  “Tsam’s right,” Kole interjects. “Enough now.”

  Garrett tries to take his sister’s arm but she pulls away and looks at him as though she is deeply disappointed. Then she opens her wings and swoops back up into the air.

  “Don’t worry, Émi. No one’s following us,” Garrett says. “Alyssa’s just…” He shrugs.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Tsam tuts at me. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I should have been more clear. It really is dangerous for you here, Ém.”

  “I know that now,” I say. I overestimated myself, and I underestimated Mahg. I must not make that mistake again.

  Tsam and Kole help me back into the saddle. Kole tells me that my horse is called Pascha and his is Orie. Pascha is grey with a white splash on his nose and four white socks, while Orie is black and altogether more stoic. They are different from the horses in Nhatu – their coats are smoother and glossier, their physique more toned. These are not horses used for dragging carts, or shifting the rubble of the fallen-down Red Quarter tenements. These horses are cared for.

  With the three Watchers up in the sky, Kole and I are effectively alone but he doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay fixed on the horizon, and when he does turn in my direction it’s only to survey our surroundings.

  After an hour or so, we reach a sharp incline that winds up through a copse of trees. Surely Pascha can’t carry me up there? It’s too steep. I tense, and Pascha slows down. I wonder whether I should climb down and walk but, ahead, Kole has risen up into the stirrups so he’s leaning into Orie’s neck. He is gripping Orie’s mane, pressing his weight in just the right place to propel them up the slope.

  Pascha shakes his head as though he’s waiting for me to take the same stance as Kole, so I take a deep breath and heave myself up. I grasp a chunk of Pascha’s mane in my right hand and hold the front of the saddle with my left, then push myself into his strong muscular neck.

  Pascha makes a snuff sound as he marches us up the hill but it takes only minutes to reach the top. When I sink back into the saddle, I’m exhausted and panting. Kole and Orie fall in line beside me.

  “How’s the pain?” he asks, finally acknowledging me.

  “Not terrible.”

  “A Spectre’s touch can be deadly,” Kole replies.

  “She passed straight through you…” I say.

  Kole barely blinks. “I’m unharmed.”

  “What are they?” I ask. “The Spectres?”

  Kole frowns. “You don’t know?”

  I feel my cheeks flush. “The Council rewrote our history books. We know nothing of anything.”

  Kole nods. “Spectres are malicious female spirits. Hundreds of years ago, after the Dark Quarrels, the Elders gave each dangerous Magickal race its own territory. The Spectres were sent to the Whispering Forest near Esyllt and they have remained there, peacefully, ever since.”

  “She said Mahg made them leave?”

  Kole dips his head. “For some time now, there have been rumours that Mahg is recruiting the more unscrupulous Magicks to do his bidding. Now we know this is more than rumour.”

  We sink into silence but my mind is still churning with questions.

  “Who are the Overseers?” I ask.

  “They work for Mahg. They keep the inhabitants of the Islands in line. Especially the orphanage.”

  “Orphanage?”

  Kole straightens his shoulders. “There are no families on the Islands. At birth, infants are sent away from their mothers. The weak are destroyed, or kept as slaves. The strong are trained to fight for Mahg.” He pauses. “The Islands have always been different from The Four Cities but Mahg has harnessed their darkness and turned it into something bigger. If he succeeds in seizing the Fire Stone…”

  An icy shudder ripples through my body. “Is Alyssa right? Do you think the Spectre saw inside my mind? What if she tells Mahg we’re going to Abilene?”

  Kole’s jaw twitches. “I do not believe she saw inside your mind. You repelled her before she could connect with you. But your magick proved she was right… proved you’re one of the girls Mahg’s looking for.”

  “So I’ve put everyone in danger?” Prickles of dread are creeping under my skin.

  Kole turns so he’s facing me. “No. She knew I was hiding something, but she thought I simply wanted the glory of returning you to Mahg myself. She didn’t see the Watchers, only me, so there’s no reason for her to connect you with Abilene.”

  I don’t know how to respond. Once again I feel like I’m going to cry. Please, please let Kole be right.

  We keep going, even when the sun disappears and the sky is dotted with stars. We don’t stop. Exposed, and without any trees to trap the day’s residual warmth, the air turns bitterly cold. Kole is wearing only a vest and a waistcoat, his arms exposed, yet he seems not to feel the cold. I can’t wrap my arms around myself because I need to hold Pascha’s reins, and soon my teeth begin to chatter. Kole glances at me, then takes a blanket from one of Orie’s saddle bags and passes it over.

  Perhaps I was wrong not to trust him? I try to meet his eyes, but he stares straight ahead so all I can see is the way he looked when he told the Spectre he was working for Mahg, the metal in his voice, the way he gripped my arm. No, I must not drop my guard. I must remember this feeling.

  For another hour, at least, we trek on. Then, suddenly, the horses stop, and I look up from my half slumber. We are at the edge of another forest. This one, however, is different; it isn’t trees in front of us, but bamboo. Huge thick canes, silver in the moonlight, stretch up and sway in greeting. I stroke Pascha’s neck, then climb down from his back. A warm breeze ripples through the air, dancing across my face. It weaves through the bamboo so that the canes chime softly against one another, sending out a hollow, whispered greeting. Welcome, come inside.

  “This,” says Kole, “is Abilene.”

  Eleven

  The Watchers land in front of us. Garrett leans onto his knees and exhales deeply. Alyssa wipes her forehead, her wings sagging. Tsam, however, doesn’t stop for breath.

  He asks Kole to take the horses to the Academy and inform the Elders of our return. Then he tells Alyssa and Garrett that he’s going to take me home with him to rest for a few hours – we will reconvene in the morning.

  It is a short journey. We fly over the tops of the bamboo until it becomes trees and, within minutes, Garrett and Alyssa break away and dip down beneath the canopy. Seconds later, Tsam does the same.

  We land on a suspended wooden walkway where flickering lanterns light the way to a house that is nestled between thick entwined branches. Its walls curve and twist, making it impossible to discern where dwelling ends and tree begins. It has glowing windows and a pointed chimney, which is puffing out light grey smoke.

  Tsam releases his hold on me and I wobble after him, finding my legs again after the journey. When we reach the front door, he doesn’t knock – just opens it, ushers me in beside him and says, “This is home.” Inside, intricately carved pieces of furniture sit snug against the undulating walls. There is a kitchen area, a round table with chairs that have bright blue legs and a crackling fire.

  I sit down next to Tsam, wondering whether he lives here alone but feeling too exhausted to ask. A glass teapot rests in the middle of the table, on top of a small copper frame with a candle in its centre. Inside the pot, heavily perfumed tea simmers patiently. I sit back in my chair. It is quiet here; Abilene doesn’t chatter like the Alder Woods or hum like Nhatu. It is still, as though frozen in time, with Tsam and I the only creatures still moving.

  Tsam pours us each a cup of tea, as if it is the most normal thing in the world to be sitting here together. The liquid is a deep
ruby; sweet and hot. I wrap my fingers around the mug’s warmth. As Tsam sips, his muscles visibly relax. He is different here; he fits.

  “It's been a long couple of days,” he says, lifting a foot to balance on the rim of his chair. “Tonight, we’ll rest. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the Elders.”

  “And they’ll help Ma? Get her out of Nhatu?”

  Tsam picks at his thumbnail then looks up. “I’m sure of it.”

  “We can’t see them tonight?” I ask. Every part of me vibrates with fatigue, but I can’t help feeling we’re wasting time.

  Tsam looks at the window; its shutters are open, framing a square of heavy darkness. “There’s nothing they can do tonight, Ém. They can’t just charge over the wall and snatch Patti back.”

  I know he’s right and, really, I wasn’t expecting him to say yes. He is watching me as if he can hear my mind whirring. He motions to the tea. “Drink up. It will help you sleep. Stop your brain feeling fuzzy.”

  We drain our cups in silence then he guides me into a dimly lit corridor lined with doors. He points to one of the doors on the right. “That's the bathroom.” Then, next to it, as if I was always destined to come here: “This is yours. Night, Ém.”

  I step into the room. When Tsam closes the door behind me, I take off my boots and fold myself into the softness of the bed. I can’t remember the last time I slept in sheets this soft. Ma would like these sheets.

  I wake to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. It reminds me of weekends in the Green Quarter, when my father was still with us. Every Saturday he would make a large pot of coffee and scramble some eggs, then the three of us would eat together while he read out articles from the newspaper. For one cloudy moment, I hear his voice calling, “Émi, breakfast!”

  I shake off the memory and stretch my arms up above my head, feeling my shoulders click and groan. At the foot of the bed, Tsam has left me a towel and some fresh clothes, with a note: Morning. Breakfast’s ready when you are.

  I pad barefoot to the bathroom, and pause in the doorway. This isn’t really a room; it’s more like a balcony. Circular, like the living quarters we were in last night, but with a shoulder-height woven screen in place of a wall. There’s no ceiling – just a patch of clear blue sky and a few sinewy branches where the roof should be. Strung from one of those branches is what looks like an upside down bucket with holes in it.

  I lock the door and hang my clothes and towel over a branch that seems to have grown precisely for this purpose. Then I step under the bucket. I prod it, thinking that perhaps it will tip up and pour water over me, but it doesn’t move. I tug at its handle, wondering if I’m supposed to lift it down and fill it from somewhere, but it is fixed in place. And anyway, it couldn’t possibly be filled with water because of all those holes.

  Then I notice a small wooden lever protruding from the trunk of the tree. I pull it. I hear the sound of something sliding away and, instantly, blissfully warm water bathes my skin. Clouds of steam billow into the sky. I step closer and the contrast between the cool air and the warm water makes me sigh into myself.

  My muscles relax. I close my eyes. And, for just a moment, I allow myself to forget why I’m here, what’s to come and what has been. Too soon, a knock on the door drags me back into the present. Tsam’s muffled voice asks, “Émi, you okay in there?” I shout that I’ll be out in a moment, scrub the dirt from my skin and hair, then climb into a clean set of clothes. Damp from the steam, my curls will dry thick and wavy so I pin them up out of the way and steel myself to leave the solitude of the bathroom.

  When I enter the round room, Tsam greets me with a broad grin and presses a mug into my hand.

  “You look rested,” he says, pleased.

  “And a lot cleaner,” I reply, presenting my hands for inspection. Tsam gives a soft laugh that reminds me of Amin and ushers me into a seat at the table.

  While he opens the oven to check on a loaf of bread, I lean back in my chair and look out of one of the windows. In the morning light, I notice a flurry of greenery. Above our heads, a hatch in the ceiling welcomes in a column of sunshine. I’m desperate to poke my head out and see where we are but, at the same time, my body twitches with the need to get going. It’s as if I have two separate Émis in my head – one who can’t believe she is in Abilene and who’s longing to explore, take it all in, marvel at it. And one who knows she is here for much more severe purposes – to rescue a sister and save a mother.

  Tsam joins me at the table. He is relaxed, content, at home. I’m about to ask him what will happen today when the front door swings open. A middle-aged Watcher with silver-tipped wings and hair down to her waist enters, carrying a sack of groceries. When she spots Tsam, she abandons the sack on the counter and they press their palms together before embracing.

  “They said you were back.” She smiles, tousling his hair.

  Tsam turns to me. “Émi, this is Rumah. My aunt.”

  “You’re Amin’s sister?” I ask, immediately seeing the resemblance to Tsam’s father.

  Rumah nods and her eyes twinkle as she hugs me. She smells of rosemary. “It’s lovely to meet you, Émi. Tsam has told me so much.”

  I glance at Tsam and I’m sure I see him blushing. He turns quickly to the counter and starts unpacking the food.

  “How is Amin?” Rumah asks, her expression creasing with concern.

  I’m not sure what to say. I think he’s alright, but so much could have happened.

  Luckily, Tsam jumps in. “When we left, he was safe. But I’ll dispatch a messenger to him this morning. Our departure wasn’t quite as smooth as we’d hoped.”

  Rumah frowns and folds her arms so Tsam tells her about my sparks and Jennyfer’s Punishment. When he reaches the part where we escape over the wall, leaving my mother in the hands of the Cadets, Rumah gasps and her feathers ripple.

  “Don’t worry, Émi, the Elders will know what to do,” she says sincerely.

  The breakfast Rumah brought home is a large green fish, which she fries and divides into three portions. While we eat, I make myself smile and chatter as if we have all the time in the world. But a voice in my head chants, Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!

  Eventually, Tsam asks if I’m ready and, although I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ready for, I say yes. We leave Rumah at the house and step out onto the boardwalk. Now it’s daylight I can see that the Watchers’ round houses are scattered at varying heights throughout the trees, all connected by suspended wooden walkways. The trees themselves aren’t like the ones in the Alder Woods. There are no creeping vines or twisted trunks; they stand tall and straight and proud, and their leaves shimmer in the sunlight.

  We follow the boardwalk down to ground level. When we arrive at the forest floor, we are greeted by a host of bright purple flowers, spread out before us like a carpet. I’m afraid to step on them but Tsam doesn’t hesitate; the flowers simply spring back up as soon as he lifts his foot. I wish I wasn’t wearing boots so I could feel them between my toes.

  “We’re not flying?” I ask, hurrying to keep up.

  Tsam laughs, flitting his wings outwards a little. “Not this morning. I need to keep my legs in shape somehow, Ém.”

  I glance at his legs and blush, looking away quickly before he notices. I forgot he could be like this. Charming, that’s what Ma used to call him. “Tsam is so charming, Émi,” she’d say. “He’s going to be a real dish when you’re older, you’ll see. You really would make a delightful couple…”

  As we walk, the trees are slowly replaced by bamboo. It creates a silvery fence around the Watchers’ homes, towering up so the houses are obscured from view. I am walking backwards, staring up at the delicate bamboo leaves, when Tsam grabs my elbow and says, “Best watch where you’re going…”

  I turn around and my breath catches in my throat. We are standing on the edge of a cliff face that drops down so sharply it’s as though we’re looking at the end of the world. I want to tiptoe closer and peek over but Tsam motions for us to
keep walking.

  Moving away from the forest, the bamboo is on our right and the cliff on our left. After a few minutes, the ground begins to dip; it slopes down and down until finally, hundreds of metres below us, vast and glimmering and so blue it’s as if someone painted it there, I see the lake. The one from the stories I wasn’t supposed to know, from my father’s drawings, and my own vivid dreams. I feel like I might cave inwards because I can’t absorb enough of it.

  I take a deep breath and let the cool air wash over me. Tsam points to the other end of the lake where a white stone building stands tall and proud.

  “That’s the Academy,” he says. “It’s where we train, and where the Elders meet.” He steers my gaze to the rocks below the building where a waterfall spills out. On either side of it, Watchers stand in hollowed-out enclaves guarding the water – guarding the Fire Stone. At the thought of the stone, I look down at my hands. Do they feel different? Or is it my imagination? I haven’t felt my sparks since the encounter with the Spectre. They’ve become a fizzing memory that I can’t quite conjure. But now, looking down at the lake, my pulse quickens and something stirs in my belly. Does the Fire Stone know I’m here?

  From our vantage point I can see that the Academy stretches back in a U-shape, with two large turrets at either end. We continue down the sloping cliff path until we reach the eastern side of the U, where an archway opens onto a large square courtyard. It is empty except for a tree in its centre, a circular wooden bench built around the trunk.

  We cross the courtyard, then climb some steps that have been carved into the side of the Academy building itself. They lead to a small stone landing with a big wooden door. Tsam pushes it open and we enter a high-ceilinged room with rows of small windows. Above us, hundreds of birds, all of different colours and sizes, flit back and forth between criss-crossed beams.

  Tsam looks up and whistles an intricate, high-pitched melody. A bird with bright red feathers and black circles around its eyes flies down to him. It lands on the crest of Tsam’s wing and chirps something into his ear. Tsam takes a piece of paper from his pocket. It is curled into a tiny scroll and tied with a piece of twine. Gently, Tsam parts the ruffled feathers below the bird’s neck to reveal a tiny tube-shaped pendant. He unscrews the lid of the pendant and slips the scroll inside. Then the bird shimmies and its feathers fall back into place, obscuring the message that’s now strung around its throat. Tsam says, “Thank you, Fin. It’s for my father.” Fin blinks, chirps and leaves us.