Warriors of Wing and Flame

by Sara B. Larson

  “I didn’t know that,” I admitted, though it suddenly shed a new light on so many things. But I wondered if that, too, was gone now that my power was. I hadn’t been near him most of last night, and this morning I’d been too absorbed in my own desolation to take note of whether I could still sense Halvor’s feelings.

  “That’s why I know how … unhappy … you are right now,” Zuhra continued carefully. “Why I’m so worried about you.”

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

  She could feel the darkness in me? The grasping, sucking despair that continued to grow stronger and stronger?

  “I only wish I knew how to help.” Zuhra stood close enough to reach out to me, but though her hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to, it remained by her side.

  Can you get my power back?

  There’s nothing you can do.

  Please go away.

  Don’t leave me alone.

  I shrugged. “I probably just need time … to get used to it.”

  Zuhra’s eyebrows knit together, and I realized even if I were the best liar in the world—which I most certainly was not—she would know I was lying because she knew what I was feeling. She knew just how deep the “unhappiness,” as she’d kindly called it, burrowed into my heart, even my soul.

  In an effort to deflect her focus, I blurted the first question that came to mind. “So, you’re an enhancer?”

  She blinked. “Yes, that’s what Adel—er, Father—said.”

  For some reason, it was a little bit comforting that she stumbled over the word “father” even though she’d been with him the whole time we’d been apart, getting to know him.

  “Then why aren’t your eyes like mi—theirs?” Mine no longer glowed. They never would again.

  “I … I actually don’t know. There hasn’t really been a good time to ask yet.” Zuhra finally reached out, but to my plants, instead of me. She picked a ripe green bean from one stalk and rolled it between her fingers. “There’s so much I still don’t understand.”

  “What was it like there?” Even though it smarted to ask, I had to know. “How did you survive after…”

  She stared down at the bean, a peculiarly sad, almost wistful look on her face. For Visimperum? Or something else? “The rakasa was trying to drag me away—to finish what it started. But the flare of power at the gateway drew the garrison on patrol to it, and thankfully they got to me in time.” She finally looked up at me. “It was Adelric’s garrison. I still can’t believe it, but the first person I saw in Visimperum was our father.”

  While the rakasa in the citadel had nearly killed me and Halvor, while I was healing myself and then him, she was being rescued by our father. “So, he healed you?”

  “No, actually. He killed the rakasa that attacked me—so he didn’t have enough power left to heal wounds of my magnitude. He asked Raidyn to do it.”

  “Oh.” I glanced past her to the citadel that was now inhabited by so many strangers, including Raidyn—the one who looked at her with eyes that burned with far more than just Paladin fire. The one who healed me—with her help. “Wait—the san … sana…”

  “Sanaulus,” she repeated.

  “Does he have that with me too?”

  She paused just long enough for me to know the answer even before she nodded. “But don’t worry—he’s been trained not to use it to invade your privacy or anything like that. And he says he knows how to keep from getting confused about his emotions for anyone he has healed.”

  I could only stare at her, hot embarrassment rising up my neck. So not only could my sister feel everything I felt—which I wasn’t thrilled about, but at least it was my sister—now her … whatever he was to Zuhra … could too? And then the second part of what she’d said sank in.

  “Wait … sanaulus can make you confused about how you feel about someone?”

  “That’s what I’ve been told. It creates such a strong emotional bond between the person who was healed and the healer, that without proper training, it can be mistaken for a, ah, different kind of bond.”

  A fist of doubt pushed past my lungs to clutch my heart, compressing it to the point of pain. A sudden dizziness made my head swim. “How can you tell the difference? How do I know if what I think I feel for Halvor is … if it’s real?”

  Zuhra frowned. “I’m not sure. I … I think when it’s real, it’s more than just that connection. All I know is the difference between what I thought I felt for—a, um—different person, and Raidyn.” She stumbled over her words, uncharacteristically hesitant. Who else had she believed herself to have feelings for? “With the, uh, first one, I was fascinated by him. Meeting him, talking to him, was exciting and different and I thought that meant … We’d read all those stories as girls but had never met any boys before, until—” She broke off, eyes lowering, and realization dawned on me with awful, sinking clarity.

  Halvor.

  She had believed herself to care for Halvor?

  “But with Raidyn,” she barreled on, while I tried to assimilate my shock, “it’s so much more. I’m not just fascinated by the fact that he’s a boy, I’m fascinated by him. Everything about him. I want to know him the way I know you—the way I can tell if you’re upset or calm from a mere expression you make or the way you move your hands. I want to feel completely comfortable with him, the way I can share anything with you. With the other boy, I was … curious. But when I’m with Raidyn, my heart … it … it just races—like the feeling the moment right after a gryphon takes off and I’m terrified and exhilarated all at once. I want to be with him, all the time. And when he’s gone, I wonder when and how I’ll see him again. I want to have him hold me, to want me, the way I want him. I dream of him k—”

  Zuhra stopped abruptly, eyes bright, the skin just below her ear flushed red—one of the only spots where I could see her blush because of her tanned, olive skin.

  I stared at my sister. “Oh,” was all I said.

  Had she kissed Raidyn? Was that how she knew this? I enjoyed being with Halvor, I’d even kissed him, but it hadn’t felt like that. Well, except for the whole blasting him to the ground with my power, which I supposed I no longer needed to worry about. But as for heart racing and wanting to be with him as much as possible … I couldn’t understand that. Halvor comforted and calmed me. I was curious to kiss him again, to see what it felt like, especially with the threat of my power gone. But a part of my heart sank at the difference between what she’d described and what I felt. Was it just different for me and Halvor? Or was I confusing the effects of sanaulus with how I felt for him?

  “Nara, I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through.” Zuhra finally put the tortured bean down and reached for me, thankfully changing the subject. Her fingers wove between mine and I found myself clutching her hand. She’d always been my lifeline, my anchor. No matter how much my world had changed, she was still the one steady thing to cling to, to stay afloat. “I want you to know you’re not alone. I will always be here for you—no matter what. And at least we will always be able to talk to each other now.”

  “That’s true.” I looked down at my plants. The roar was never coming back—I would never be lost in it again. I should have been glad. Instead, new dots of moisture began to speckle the dry soil.

  Zuhra stepped closer to me, so that we stood shoulder to shoulder, our clasped hands pressed between us. “I’m sorry, Nara. I’m so sorry.”

  We stood side by side, the sun bathing us in light and warmth, while I cried. A torrent of grief and fear released at last, with my sister as the only witness.

  But then, right in the middle of the onslaught of tears, darkness crashed into me—so hard and fast, it felt like an actual, physical thing—as though Zuhra had shoved me in the chest, knocking me back. I stumbled away from her, my vision tunneling into black before a barrage of images flashed through my mind.

  A boy staring up into the glowing blue eyes of an old man ensconced in a large armchair, his jowls heavy with a
graying beard. “Our worlds were never meant to be separated like this. We were born to rule. Those who chose to create the divide were weak—and wrong.”

  A young man, consumed with grief, alone and supremely unhappy, stumbling into a large library to escape a deluge common for the area.

  “You’re late, Barloc,” a stern voice came from the desk directly ahead; a tall, austere man stared down his long, beaked nose at him. The sorrow that consumed his every waking moment was pushed behind the crushing hatred that surged, as it did every time he had to make himself subservient to the cruel old man.

  “I apologize, sir. My grandfather died and—”

  “That was last week. You may no longer use that excuse. You will be on time, or you will be dismissed from the library.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. It won’t happen again.” And someday, I will never have to demean myself to worthless people like you again, he added silently as he tromped toward his much smaller desk and the stack of books that needed sorting.

  A forest, bathed in shadow, only flickers of dappled sunlight glimmering between the leaves and branches above him. He stretched out his hand and loosed a blast of blue flame, consuming a huge bush entirely in moments, just because he could. Burning, heady, intoxicating power searing through his veins—at long, long last.

  “Inara!”

  I slammed back into myself with a jerk of Zuhra’s hands on my shoulders, her voice nearly a shout. I was gasping for air, the emptiness inside me pulsing hot and painful.

  “Inara—what happened? Are you all right?”

  I blinked and looked at my sister, disoriented and terrified. “I’m … I’m fine,” I finally managed. “I’m sorry … I just … I’m so tired,” I added, aware of how absurd it sounded to claim it was only exhaustion.

  “Are you sure?” Zuhra clearly didn’t believe me, but she didn’t press when I shook my head. “Perhaps we should go back inside. Lie down for a bit. Or go see what the others are doing.”

  “All right,” I agreed, allowing her to thread our fingers together and walk hand in hand back toward the citadel. The sun was warm on our backs, but nothing could dispel the bone-deep cold from what I’d seen—and what it meant.

  SIX

  ZUHRA

  “Am I to understand there is an entire collection of Paladin books at this library you speak of?”

  Sachiel’s sharp question made Halvor flinch. “Yes. My uncle was studying them. At least, that’s what he always claimed. He was a scholar. But, obviously, now I realize it was more than that.” He sat perched on the edge of the chair as if preparing to jump to his feet and flee at any moment, his spine so straight, my mother would have cried tears of joy to see such proper posture—had she not been sitting beside Inara, her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, glaring at him, as if she held him responsible for not knowing what Barloc had been planning to do.

  The fact that Mother was the one comforting Inara during the meeting my father had called was unbelievable enough, but even more incredible was that Inara was letting her. Something between them must have drastically changed while I was in Visimperum. Either that, or whatever had happened to her out in the gardens, the frightening episode when her face had gone blank and she’d stopped responding—which she’d obviously lied about—had affected her so deeply, she hardly even noticed who was doing the comforting. I was still reeling from the fact that she had lied to me. I hadn’t even dared question her because I’d been so stunned—and hurt.

  “Why would a library in your world have Paladin books?”

  “I’m not sure. My uncle didn’t like lots of questions. He expected quiet obedience, and eventually rewarded hard work and study with answers. He’d promised me many answers after this expedition.”

  Sachiel’s eyes narrowed, considering.

  I’d hoped after the fiasco at dinner the night before, they would leave him alone. But when Inara and I had come back into the citadel, we’d seen him walking morosely toward the morning room, and she’d gone to him, all too eager to leave my side. He’d said he’d been summoned for more questioning, and she’d offered to go with him, leaving me no choice but to follow or return to my room alone.

  “What name did you say he took here?” Sachiel continued her questioning.

  “Barloc?”

  “No, his family name—his surname. You name yourselves differently. What were his other names?”

  “Ignulac. His full name is Barloc Ignulac.” Halvor shrank back in his seat when Sachiel actually snarled in response to this revelation. Even Raidyn, who stood beside my father, winced.

  “Ignulac?” my father repeated. “Are you sure?”

  “He’s my uncle—my mother’s brother.” Halvor’s knuckles were white where he gripped his legs. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  My father spat a word in Paladin that I suspected wasn’t one for polite society based on Sharmaine’s flinch. “Sachiel, what can you tell us about any suspicious families near Fire Lake?” My father watched the other general closely.

  “There is one family I remember,” Sachiel said through clenched teeth. “A family strongly gifted with rare abilities—that were part of the Infinitium sect.”

  This time, Loukas cursed underneath his breath. A palpable chill descended over the room, like the visceral reaction I had when the name was brought up the night before … though I still didn’t understand what it meant.

  “They lived on a secluded farmstead on the edge of the forest, and groups of them would often go off into the woods for extended periods of time—you can imagine what they were searching for. They always returned, unsuccessful. But there was a rumor I heard when I was growing up—about one of the patriarchs of the family taking two of his sons and a handful of other family members decades before I was born; they left and never returned.”

  My father’s hands clenched into fists. “That could be Barloc’s connection.” It wasn’t a question, but Sachiel still nodded.

  “Everyone in Ignulac believed they all died in the wilderness—killed by rakasa. At least that’s what my grandmother told us. But what if they didn’t? What if some of them actually succeeded?”

  “Adelric,” my mother finally spoke up, “can you explain what you’re all talking about? Is Ignulac a place or a name?”

  Sachiel’s eyes narrowed as she pointedly said, “It’s a place. It means ‘fire lake’—and it’s where I grew up.”

  “I see.” Mother returned her glare for glare, some of her old fire returning at last—and for once, I was actually glad of her ability to make nearly anyone cower. “And what is the Infinitium sect?”

  “The Infinitium sect is a fringe group of Paladin who believe our worlds never should have been separated—that the Paladin had the right to rule over the humans because of their superior power and abilities,” Raidyn answered quietly, as if he bore the shame of their beliefs on his shoulders. “They often send groups of believers out to try to reach the gateway without being discovered by patrols and attempt to reopen it so they can come to Vamala and use their power to rule over your people.”

  When the meeting had begun, my stomach ached from hunger, but at Raidyn’s words, that emptiness transmuted into acidic dismay. My mother drew back, stricken, and then turned her glare on Father. “Why did you never tell me about this?”

  Before he could answer, I burst out, “Were the Five who succeeded—the ones who started the war—part of that sect?”

  Everyone turned to me and I flushed.

  “Yes, actually,” my father responded, skipping my mother’s question. But the look she gave him clearly meant that discussion wasn’t finished. “They were caught attempting to get to the gateway by a patrolling garrison. The Five were all jaklas who had murdered other Paladin to strengthen themselves. They killed eight more Paladin in the patrol that caught them before they were subdued, imprisoned, and taken in to be tried and judged. But they were inordinately powerful, with rare gifts that enabled them to escape. The second time, they made it
to the gateway and opened it—as you know.”

  We were all quiet for several seconds, absorbing what he’d said.

  “So … Barloc’s grandfather must have been part of the Infinitium sect, from Ignulac. And that’s why he knew how to rip the power from—” Sharmaine cut herself off, flushing red, her eyes dropping to the ground when Inara stiffened.

  “There’s no way to know for certain,” Sachiel said.

  “What does that other word mean—the name of the sect?” Mother asked.

  There was a pause, and then Father said, “It means unlimited power.”

  I shuddered. Raidyn’s gaze lifted to me, no doubt sensing the emotion rising in my gut, boiling its way up, scalding my heart, my throat, my mouth.

  “These secret books your uncle had.” Sachiel shook off the reverie that had taken hold of her momentarily, her expression hardening once more as she turned back to Halvor. “We must assume they were brought by members of this sect from our world to yours. What’s in them?”

  “I don’t know.” Halvor stared down at his hands.

  “How can you not know? Didn’t you just tell us that you studied the Paladin with him—that you learned our language from him and his books?” Sachiel’s voice rose again until Halvor cowered on the couch. I’d never seen him so diminished, so submissive. Not even by my mother at her worst. What his uncle had done to Inara had wounded him deeply, if not broken him entirely.

  “Sachiel, that’s enough,” my father interceded. “Can’t you see how upset the boy is?”

  “We don’t have time to be delicate about this,” Sachiel argued.

  “He knew a Paladin,” Inara suddenly cut in.

  “Excuse me?” Sachiel’s eyebrows lifted.

  Inara swallowed and looked up, her jaw set. “Barloc. He knew a Paladin. I don’t know if it was his grandfather, but it was an old man.”

  I stared at my sister. “How could you possibly—”

  “I saw him.” Though Inara no longer had Paladin fire in her eyes, they still flashed when she lifted her chin and continued. “I saw him as a young boy, talking to an old man with glowing eyes. Telling him that our worlds were never meant to be split apart. That those with power should rule over those without.”