Blood of Fire

by Marlow York

  Khero’s eyes met mine, wide and alert. His ears were tall and attentive, pointing directly at me as though he was noticing me for the first time. I’m certain he saw the exact same expression on my own face. As we stared at each other, I could almost feel him asking, “Did you feel that too?”

  Suddenly, Khero stood and growled. I jumped in alarm and backed away quickly.

  “What is the problem?” Sarrenke stopped and looked back at us when she realized I wasn’t right behind her. “Khero?” she asked.

  The wolf let out a huff of air and stepped towards me, herding me to Sarrenke’s side.

  “What was that about?” she asked, her brows furrowed with concern.

  “I-I don’t know,” I said. “I just felt—”

  Khero snarled loudly.

  “Khero, stop that,” Sarrenke reprimanded gently. “She is doing exactly what we want her to do. Come,” she told me.

  As we walked back to the house, I could feel Khero’s eyes stabbing into my back, but it wasn’t anything like the sensation I’d felt when I walked past him.

  Tarek was in Zani’s pasture, brushing the dusty war paint from his black coat. He paused briefly to watch us pass, but never said anything. Again, I felt his eyes cutting into me, but I pressed my lips together and looked away before I was caught staring. He reminded me so much of a wolf that I thought it best to avoid eye contact for too long.

  To my surprise, Sarrenke lead me straight into the house. No matter how many times I called it a “house,” I felt the word was a bit of an overstatement. It was a badly constructed shack built of logs, the gaps filled with what appeared to be hardened mud. The Fiero were not extravagant people, but even our wooden structures looked sturdier than this one.

  “Normally, you will stay out of here unless invited inside for work,” Sarrenke said.

  I wondered if she realized that “invited” normally implied going to a place for positive experiences, not to do slave work. The inside of the house was a small, dark room. Sunlight filtered in through two small open windows, and there was a fireplace that undoubtedly provided much of the light and heat at night. The floor was hard-packed dirt, and there were long flat planks of wood providing shelving and counter space. To my right was a very short hallway and another room with a thick fabric “door.”

  “That is Tarek and his wife’s room,” Sarrenke said, following my gaze. “You must never go in there.”

  I could understand why that would be, and part of me was afraid of what I might find in the bedroom of a man like him. “Tarek’s wife,” I said slowly. “What is her name?”

  “Ria,” Sarrenke said. Then she dropped her voice. “It would be best if you do not speak of her around Tarek. He is very protective of her.”

  I swallowed hard and looked again at the door to Tarek’s room. It was hard to picture someone as angry as Tarek being “protective” of anyone, but cruel, selfish people are often possessive. I was more curious as to what Ria looked like, and why someone who lived in the Grakkir clan would need protection from anyone. It was my understanding that even the women were all highly skilled, dangerous killers.

  Before I had much time to think about Ria or anything else, Sarrenke began pulling cooking utensils and ingredients out of unexpected storage areas. She pulled sturdy planks out of the sides of the walls, revealing hidden stores of food and cooking pots.

  “Do you know how to build a fire?” she asked me.

  I shook off my surprise and nodded. She gestured at the small fire pit to my left, a clear command to get started. I knelt beside it and cleared away the old ashes, assessing which burnt logs could be used again. I picked up an old metal can—no doubt pilfered from a nearby village—and found a small collection of dry twigs and pine needles inside. I arranged the large logs in an “A” shape, with the small twigs in the center. They had no matches to start a fire with, but the Fiero seldom had matches either. Instead, I would have to knock a pair of stones together and wait for the sparks to catch the twigs and pine needles on fire.

  Starting fires could often be frustrating because it was such a delicate art. I’m sure people seldom thought of it that way, until they had to start a fire in less-than-ideal conditions. More than once I’d watched my father swear and pant over our fireplace in the middle of winter when the logs had to be continuously replenished by bringing the damp ones in from the pile outside. However, whenever I’d been asked to start the fire, I always seemed to have a knack for it.

  “The Ancient Fire burns within you.”

  My breath caught in my throat as my mother’s voice echoed in my ears. I froze, paralyzed by her last words to me.

  “Your warm skin, you never get cold, fire can’t harm you.”

  Was that what she’d meant? The Ancient Fire was a silly Fiero legend, told only in hushed voices at the insistence of children. But what if it was true, whereas so many other things we’d been taught were lies? Was that why I couldn’t be harmed by fire, because I was made from it?

  “Are you okay?” Sarrenke asked over my shoulder.

  I hadn’t realized it, but my body was trembling. Tears were filling my eyes and I’d been nearly holding my breath. All the destruction and death I’d endured threatened to overwhelm me as I stared at the cold sticks. I took a deep breath, listening to my mother’s voice. “The Ancient Fire burns within you.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek, but I focused on the unusual energy building in my chest. I gripped the stones and exhaled, feeling a warmth fill my palms and focused all my energy on the next strike. When I release this spark, there will be flames.

  I rapped the stones together with a sharp clack, the sparks leapt onto the sticks, and with a final rush of energy, flames filled the fireplace.

  I gasped in surprise, dropping the stones as I fell back on my heels. I suddenly felt dizzy and stars were shooting through my vision. I worried I might faint, so I breathed evenly until my vision cleared.

  “Did you burn yourself?” Sarrenke asked, stepping to my side.

  “A little,” I lied. “I’m fine.” I had to fight back a smile as I realized the legends were true. I was made from fire.

  Chapter 5

  The attack on my village was certainly the most frightening moment of my life, but it was not the first time I was absolutely terrified.

  When I was a child, there was one winter that was more destructive than any I could remember. We shivered constantly, the icy wind outside our homes sliced into our skin, and our fingers were almost too stiff to work on the simplest of tasks. Several animals died that winter, particularly chickens, ducks, and a few goats. One of the village’s strongest plow horses succumbed to the cold, and remained frozen to the ground for several days, until the sun warmed the earth enough to pull it from the pasture.

  It was on one of those frigid nights my sister and I huddled close to the fireplace, wrapped in a heavy blanket. The dancing fire was so inviting, so comforting, like a hug from my parents. I remember reaching my tiny hand out to the flame, taking in its nourishing heat.

  And that’s when my hand burst into flames.

  At first, I didn’t even realize what was happening. I was too mesmerized by the fire to notice that the flame had engulfed my hand. My sister was the one who shrieked first. “Valieri! Your hand!”

  My father rushed to my side and pulled me to my feet. My arm was like a torch—the flame standing atop my hand, burning as brightly as if it were still attached to wood. I stared at it with huge eyes, and that’s when I cried out. I didn’t scream because I was in pain. In fact, I didn’t feel anything except the same comforting warmth I’d felt as I sat beside the fire. I screamed because I didn’t understand why I was on fire. I knew logs could burn, and leaves, and fabric. I’d seen all that before. Never in my life had I ever seen flesh burn, and never had anyone seen flesh on fire that didn’t burn at all.

  The first time I was truly scared, was that day. The day I realized I could touch fire and not be harmed.

  Aft
er the flame was extinguished in a basin of frigid water, I found myself longing for its warmth. The craving for fire was something I’d never felt before. I could only compare it to the craving one gets for sweets, or for the companionship of their best friend.

  My parents tried to convince me what I’d seen hadn’t really happened, but my sister had seen it too. There was no doubt it had happened, and so they decided they couldn’t deny it and instead swore us to secrecy.

  “You can never tell anyone about this,” my father warned me. “The City doesn’t approve of abnormal things, and they will punish you.”

  “Punish me?” My lower lip quivered. I was only seven years old, and even the slightest punishment scared me. Sitting alone in the corner for talking back or going to bed without dinner were horrifying to a young child. I knew about jail, and about doing manual labor as punishment; those were things the City did to people who misbehaved. They’d never taken a child away, but I didn’t know that when I was seven. No one knew they could willingly destroy an entire village when I was seven, either.

  “The same goes for you, Jenassa,” my mother added. They had us both sitting down at the kitchen table, the typical place to give us a lecture for being bad.

  “But, it’s so cool!” my sister squealed. And yet she had cried even before I did when she saw my hand on fire.

  “It most certainly is not cool!” my father shouted.

  My sister and I cowered before him. Our father never shouted unless he was giving a command or very, very angry. In this case, he could have been doing both—commanding us to not believe my resilience to fire was cool.

  “The City won’t think it’s ‘cool’, and neither of you will think it’s ‘cool’ when they take Valieri away and we never see her again,” he continued.

  I gasped. “They’re going to take me away? But I didn’t do anything!”

  “If they find out about this, they will take you away,” my mother said quietly. “That’s why it’s so important we keep this a secret. Just within the family. No one else can know. Not your friends, teachers, anyone. You need to promise us, girls.”

  I sniffled as tears fell from my eyes. I never asked to be this way; I couldn’t even control it. So why would I be punished if everyone found out I couldn’t be burned? All I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to be taken away. Though I longed to see what was behind the City walls and all its glittering lights, I didn’t want to go if it meant I’d never see my family again.

  “Okay,” I squeaked.

  “Okay,” Jenassa echoed.

  Our parents hugged us, and that was the end of the discussion. I stayed away from fire for a long time, only starting a fire in my own house, and only if no one was looking. I told people I was afraid of fire, even if they made fun of me or became annoyed that I wouldn’t start a fire for them. What I never told anyone, not even my sister, was how badly I craved the heat of fire. I wanted to let it consume me in ways that no one could possibly understand.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Not long after the incident, Juliano came to our house for dinner. It was customary to invite teachers over, as they lived the simplest lives and often had few possessions. Their profession was a strange one in the Fiero culture, which valued the ability to do physically demanding work. Teachers were usually people who had been sickly as children and were unusually weak as adults, or they craved books more than they craved being outdoors, and always wanted to know why and how things worked. Juliano was one of the latter.

  I watched him the way a child watches a parent inspect their bedroom for cleanliness. Juliano wasn’t the type of person to think less of us for the creaky floorboards or limited furnishings. I was told his house was very plain and he lived alone. For that reason, I wanted him to be happy with the meal and our home.

  My mother served a larger dinner than usual, as we intended to send Juliano home with leftovers. There was grilled pork, with a steamed mix of vegetables, plus mashed potatoes. We even had homemade dessert that night. My mother showed me how to bake an apple pie using a mix of sliced apples, sugar, and cinnamon she had canned and stored the previous year. We had only one jar, and if there wasn’t a surplus of apples at harvest time, it would be a long time before I’d taste anything that sweet again.

  Dinner itself was more an event for the adults rather than the children. We sat quietly and only spoke when spoken to, which was infrequent. When we finished eating, our parents had us wash the dishes, then sent us to bed.

  I awoke midway through a conversation between Juliano and my parents, which only piqued my interest when I heard my name. I crawled on my belly from my bed to the edge of the loft and stuck my nose just over the side.

  “Do you think you will be able to assure Valieri’s safety?” my mother asked.

  Juliano paused. “You don’t know what kind of power the City has. The officials are doing everything they can to make sure people like her do not exist.”

  “I thought the Ancient Ones became extinct centuries ago?” my father asked.

  “So did I, and so did everyone in the City. They no longer avidly seek out possible Ancient Ones, but their patrols have never truly stopped. We assume all the Ancient Ones are dead, which has made many guards lax in their patrols. However, our leadership is more paranoid than you might expect when it comes to anyone who does not have pure blood.”

  “Pure blood?” my mother asked, at the same time my father asked, “Paranoid?”

  “Pure blood, meaning anyone without Ancient Powers. City Dwellers,” Juliano clarified. “Before our Chancellor came into power, all the leaders before him had either seen the Ancient Powers for themselves or heard stories of what people like the Ancient Fiero could do. That type of power terrifies the leadership, and thus, their paranoia is deep-seated. That fear has been passed down from father to son, mother to daughter. It is what makes them insist that people like Valieri are dangerous and should not exist.”

  “Juliano,” my mother said quietly. “How do you know all this?”

  Juliano was silent for quite some time. Finally, he sighed. “I was not just trained in the City to be a teacher. I’m from the City. Born and raised. At a young age, I was selected due to my aptitude to keep an eye on the Fiero and watch out for signs of Ancient Power.”

  “You’re a spy?” my father exclaimed.

  “In simple terms, yes,” Juliano admitted gravely.

  “And it’s your job to report people like my daughter to the City?” my father continued angrily.

  “Yes, but as you can see, I haven’t done that. The Fiero are not the only village the City has a hold on. There are several other towns within their trading routes that also have spies. This is the first time in centuries someone with Ancient Blood has come to light.”

  The tea kettle whistled, and my mother jumped up to pull it from the heat. She glanced towards the loft, and I quickly squashed myself flat. I heard Jenassa’s blankets rustle as she rolled over, but she didn’t awaken.

  My mother brought three mugs of tea to the table and sat down again. “How was the Ancient Blood overlooked when she was a baby? Surely it would have come up in a blood test.”

  “Perhaps the gene has laid dormant, and only recently been activated,” Juliano suggested.

  “How is that possible?” my father asked. “How does a gene just remain dormant?”

  “How does the cicada lie dormant for years before it flies with the other insects?” Juliano countered. “I’ve never known a gene to become dormant, and that is a question only a scientist could answer. The only scientists are within the City walls, but if they were to find out about Valieri…” Juliano’s voice faded and he shook his head.

  “They would kill her.” My mother’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

  Juliano looked at her. “We can only hope that is what they would do. I hate to think of the alternative.”

  My heart hammered in my chest and I fought to silence the tears that were streaming down my face. I couldn’t und
erstand why the City would want to kill me for something I had no control over. I didn’t choose to have the Ancient Fire, and if I could have gotten rid of it, I would have.

  “She is much stronger than I realized,” Juliano continued.

  “She is just a child and it was a one-time mistake. It won’t happen again,” my father said quickly.

  “That is not why I’m here,” Juliano assured him. “I do not wish to punish the child for something she has no control over, but you all must understand why secrecy is so important.”

  “We do,” my mother chimed in. “We know the City would be very angry if they discovered someone in the Fiero clan had the Ancient Fire.”

  “Angry doesn’t even begin to describe the City’s reaction,” Juliano said. “They would take her away from here, and if they did not immediately kill her, they would do unspeakable things to her.”

  “Then let’s not speak of them with the children so close,” my mother snapped.

  I shrunk away from the edge, but they hadn’t noticed me.

  “My apologies,” Juliano said. An awkward silence fell over the room as they all sipped their tea. My mother was not the type to beat around the bush or let go of things easily. She was as fiery as a Fiero could be without possessing the Ancient Fire. She had a smoldering temper and directness beyond average women. She was female strength embodied.

  “So how do we keep this a secret?” she asked.

  “We keep our mouths shut,” Juliano said. “Who knows about it so far?”

  “Just us and Jenassa. And now you,” my father said.

  “I swear on my life I would never tell the City that the Ancient Fire lives in the Fiero clan once again.”

  “You are perhaps one of the closest to the City,” my mother said. “You’ve been within the walls and returned to tell about it. Why should we believe you?”