Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  Gahalu sounded sad. Kyrus was not sure just how complicit the Denku had been in getting him stuck on the island, but Gahalu at least seemed contrite.

  “So what now?” Kyrus asked simply, at a loss.

  He had never felt so lost, even when he had thrown in with Captain Zayne and his crew. At least then, he had some inkling that he would eventually find his way back to Acardia, perhaps parting ways at a major port and taking a different ship. Now he found himself off the trade-ways, on a little island that had little to draw ships to its shores.

  “First, I think you still need to eat this morning. No feast is big enough to keep your belly full forever. Then after that, I can show you your new home. It is nice here. I have traveled, and I have still not seen any place I would rather live. One thing I think you should prepare yourself for: our people have much respect for spirit men. The outside world is not so respectful, but here you will be treated well by everyone, even the elders.”

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus’s meal had been strange, but not entirely bad. He liked the reef fish they had cooked for him, but the meat from the melons with the rock-hard shells would take some accustoming to appreciate. A small crowd had gathered to watch him eat, and Kyrus found the attention a bit unsettling as they watched for his reactions to the foods he was trying for the first time—though the fish tasted much like he had eaten back home.

  After the meal, Gahalu took Kyrus on a bit of a tour of at least the region of the island where his village was. It seemed that there were several villages spread throughout the island, which must have been larger than Kyrus initially realized. Tiny dots on a map still covered vast reaches when traveled by foot, he had to remind himself. The interior of the island was still relatively untamed, with dangerous creatures bearing names Gahalu could not translate in Acardian, as the Acardians had no name for them.

  “So these other villages, do you trade with them, or war with them?” Kyrus asked.

  Acardian history showed that any contact between two peoples invariably resulted in one or the other. Leaving another people entirely alone could not persist, even among those who styled themselves xenophobes—those usually went to war with the “dangerous” outsiders at some point.

  “We used to war with them, long ago. Now we just trade. All the villages are near the coast, and we each fish near our own shores. The ocean is huge, and the reefs are ripe with fish. We do not fight over who fishes where,” Gahalu said. “Some men like to travel the island as traders, but most things that one village can make, the others can make too, so there are not too many traders. Many have friends in other villages, though, so travel is common. When word reaches the others that there is a spirit man here, many will come to see.”

  “So what is it that I am supposed to do? I do not know how to be a spirit man.”

  Kyrus was growing worried that he might not be able to live up to the expectations that these people obviously had of him.

  “You are a spirit man. It is not up to us to tell you what to do. You have powers we do not understand, though Captain Zayne told us some of what you can do. We hope to have the aid of your wisdom, the help of your powers. You will have every comfort the island can offer in return, as well as the love and respect of its people. No worry, you will do fine,” Gahalu told him.

  Kyrus was not yet certain, though. Even as a sorcerer, he had much to learn … and he was still prone to rather dangerous mistakes.

  “So what did Captain Zayne tell you?”

  “He showed us the marks you bear and the protection they give you. Pardon us, but we poked you with spear points to see that it worked; Captain Zayne assured us you would be unharmed, and you were. He also said you can make fire from air and move even heavy things without touching them. Is that not true?” Gahalu asked.

  “I suppose all that is true, though I dislike hearing that I was jabbed with spears in my sleep, though I suppose that the ward protected me well enough that it did not so much as wake me. Please do not try that again, though,” Kyrus warned. “So what do I do all day as a spirit man? I do not expect that you will need me to make fire for you; I can see that you do that fine without me. And I do not see many heavy things to move, certainly not enough to fill my days.”

  “You are still young to Denku Appa. For now, just learn of the island and our people. I am sure that in time you will find what you wish to do, and if need arises, we will ask you for your help.”

  The tour of the island lasted hours. Gahalu showed Kyrus the freshwater streams that they drank from and the crude roads that cut through the island to reach the other villages. He showed Kyrus groves of cultivated trees that grew the fruits the Denku liked best. All the while, a cluster of Denku with no better tasks to occupy themselves with had followed them around, listening without understanding as Kyrus and Gahalu spoke in Acardian—though Gahalu occasionally answered questions from the gawkers in their native tongue. They pressed close around him, and Kyrus noticed that many were young women with their hair dyed various colors, from reds to violets to yellow-whites. He noticed that unlike the night before, none actually came close enough to touch him, keeping an arm’s reach back from him. It was not much space, but it did not feel so confining without them pressed physically against him.

  At length, the heat of the island convinced Kyrus to remove at least his shirt, and the gawkers found interest anew in examining his pale body. Of special note was the tattoo on his arm, which amusingly shifted the crowd almost entirely to his left side. There was much pointing and discussion among the Denku, who used tattoos of their own. Kyrus figured there was significance to the designs they wore, but had not discovered the meanings of each. After trying to continue the tour despite the distraction, Gahalu eventually relented to the questioning of the other Denku.

  “Spirit Man, they are asking what the marks on your shoulder mean. Could you tell them so they will let me continue in peace?” Gahalu asked.

  “It is a protective ward,” Kyrus said. “Watch. Here, have that man there give me his knife.”

  Kyrus gestured to one of the Denku fishermen who carried a steel knife on a leather cord slung over one shoulder. It was undoubtedly a valuable tool, since Kyrus saw no evidence of smelting or metalworking among the Denku, unless one or more of the other villages was more advanced. He suspected instead that it had been traded from the rare visitors the island had received. Despite the knife’s value, it was handed over immediately after Gahalu translated the request, with no question asked.

  Kyrus took the knife and pressed it hard against the bare skin of his forearm, then drew it quickly across his flesh. He startled the Denku, who seemed worried that he had just injured himself badly. Though Kyrus knew it not, the Denku held that steel was the sharpest thing possible, and it seemed incredible to them that the knife had not cut Kyrus’s arm to the bone, the way he slashed himself with it. Instead they gaped in awe at their new spirit man, as his skin was unmarred by the blade.

  At that point, the tour ended. Gradually the crowd drew Kyrus back to the main village, pressing him for further displays of his powers. Gahalu translated the requests spottily, as dozens of people were clamoring to make their requests of their newest resident. Kyrus made lights of various colors appear for their amusement. He created bursts of flame is midair, and jets of it shooting from his hands to catch the tips of sticks they held out for him, or roasting bits of meat held on spear tips. He spent a long while lifting different Denku high in the air, much to their delight. It was a frightening experience but also an exhilarating one, and it seemed nearly all wanted to take a turn once they found out it was within his power. At one point, he tried to walk through a tree, which was met with mixed results. He was able to turn himself insubstantial again, much like he had during his Acardian jailbreak; however, he did no better at keeping his clothing in the process. He did not have to understand a word of Denku to grasp the thrust of the ribald jokes and leering looks cast his way as he scurried to retrieve his pants.


  * * * * * * * *

  By nightfall, Kyrus was exhausted. He had never used his draw so extensively, but more than anything, he was footsore and mentally drained from being what amounted to a stage performer for nearly the whole afternoon. His Source, by comparison, felt limber and ready to continue.

  At least part of me is not worn out. Nothing they asked of me was particularly taxing.

  There was to be another feast but a different sort from that of the previous night. When the Fair Trader had arrived, none of the Denku had known that they were welcoming a new spirit man, and had certainly not expected one who would be staying with them. So while the feast of the night before had been lively and festive, it had been planned with little notice. A day of preparation had allowed the residents of the village to hunt for choice game and practice their festival entertainments.

  The feast was held in the center of the village itself, with the central bonfire as its focal point. Kyrus was given a seat of honor, the front row around the fire, where he would have an unfettered view of the night’s entertainment. He was also joined again by Tippu and Kahli, who took up their same positions as they had at the previous night’s revels. Kyrus had asked Gahalu about them and discovered that he had been claimed by them in what amounted to a semi-official reservation. Kyrus was free to spurn them any time he wished, but unless he did so, no others would approach him.

  Kyrus had asked Gahalu about why there were two of them, and whether that was common among the Denku. As Gahalu had explained it: “When twenty children are born, there are ten boys, ten girls. One boy and one girl die young, due to illness or weakness. One boy dies in his test of manhood. Two boys die of wounds taken while hunting. So we are left with nine girls and six boys. Each girl cannot have one boy all her own, so some choose to share. They do not share spear-makers and fishermen. They choose hunters and chieftains—and spirit men.”

  Kyrus looked and saw only a few at the festival who were likewise attended. Kyrus was unsure what to do about Tippu and Kahli, but he expected that it would be … rude … to spurn them after apparently sharing his bed with them the night before. Yes … rude.

  The feast was three whole boars—or what looked close enough to be called such in Acardian at least—spitted over small fires about the villages. Around the main fire, men and women danced and sang, wearing masks and paint, seeming to act out historical scenes.

  This must be something akin to opera, Kyrus mused.

  He tried to follow the action, but between not understanding Denku and his other distractions, he settled for just enjoying the spectacle of it.

  The drink he was served was so weak he wondered if there was any alcohol in it at all this time. It was cloyingly sweet and fruity, and he needed the saltiness of the boar meat to cut the edge off its flavor. He found himself intoxicated again, but by the atmosphere of the festival and not the liquor.

  At the end of the night, his two escorts led him out of the village toward a hilltop where Gahalu had explained there was a hut for him. The tour had been cut short before he had seen it, but it had been the home of their last spirit man, kept empty since his death many years ago, but cleaned and prepared for him to have as his own.

  When they arrived, Kyrus was quite surprised to find that it was not of the same wood and grass construction as the rest of the Denku homes. It was made of square-cut stone blocks, fitted as would a mason from anywhere in the more civilized world Kyrus knew, with proper windows and all. The roof was of clay tiles, and they looked to be in excellent repair.

  On the inside, there was a small fireplace complete with a hook to hang a cooking pot, and the cooking pot was there as well, all cast iron in defiance of the Denku’s poverty of metal. A wooden writing desk and chair graced one wall, and a low bed occupied the other. The bedding was unusual, made of the woven grass mats that the Denku used for sleeping, but the headboard and footboard were of a style he would not have been shocked to see in Acardia.

  Tippu and Kahli waited respectfully as Kyrus examined his new abode. They seemed to think of the bed as a place that the sleeping mats were stored and quickly took a few of the thick-piled mats and covered the floor with them. Kyrus sighed as he watched them but lacked the language skill to properly explain the situation to them. Besides, there was barely room for two in the bed, and he was not going to upset them by sending them away so late at night.

  Instead Kyrus met them halfway. He lay down upon the mats and waited for the two Denku women to join him. When Tippu moved to divest him of his pants, he took hold of her wrist and shook his head slowly. Instead he motioned to the mat next to him. Disappointed but understanding his meaning, both Tippu and Kahli curled up next to him to sleep. Both of them were a little tipsy from the same drink Kyrus had imbibed, and fell asleep after not very long at all. Kyrus breathed a sigh of relief. He was still plenty sober enough to keep his wits about him. As easy as it would have been to give in to every temptation—and he could not deny the temptation—the two sweet young girls sleeping peacefully next to him were not who he wanted.

  The mystery of the previous occupant of the un-Denku-like home could wait for another time. As for Kyrus, his thoughts were elsewhere. He turned his head slightly to the side and looked at Kahli sleeping there. The red of her hair was all wrong, but it brought his thoughts in the wrong direction. Turning to Tippu, he imagined away the green hair and tried to picture Abbiley’s dark hair in its place.

  I wonder if Abbiley would enjoy life in a place like this.

  It was Kyrus’s last thought before sleep took him.

  Chapter 38 - Solstice Feast

  The halls of Solaran Estate felt different as Brannis walked along its corridors. He had not long been Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army when last he had been in his family’s ancestral home. Now the servants who hurried about seemed more deferential; his relatives seemed to noticed his presence and grant him acknowledgment when he passed them in the halls. He had not realized just how diminished he had been in their eyes until he had finally earned a position worthy of their respect.

  The torrent of activity was due to preparations for the Solstice celebration. Elsewhere in the Empire, Solstice had been observed days ago, but Brannis had just arrived back from Raynesdark the night before, having stayed long enough to ensure the orderly progress of the city’s repairs. Initially he had not intended to stay long after the victory over the goblin forces, but Duke Pellaton’s assassination had thrust him into the forefront of the recovery planning.

  Two nights after the Heroes’ Feast, as it was being called, the duke had been found dead in his quarters with a goblin dagger in his chest. A search had been launched to find and capture—or kill—the second goblin assassin to have infiltrated the castle, but the skill of the second assassin was greater than that of the first. Either that or the second assassin had just chosen his victim more carefully and not tried to kill everyone in the guest wing, as had seemed to be the plan of the one Juliana had caught and killed.

  After the duke’s death, his elder son Harwell had inherited the title of Duke of Raynesdark. With the assassin undiscovered, he was a wreck of nerves and little use to his people. Brannis had taken over the day-to-day operations of the city with Mennon’s help, and arranged for the repairs to be made to the walls and other damaged parts of the city. The tradesmen of Raynesdark numbered few stonemasons among their brethren, given that the city was thousands of summers old and was maintained by wards, not manual labor. Little had needed to be repaired or built within the lifetime of anyone in the Empire, so the skill was limited to those who had immigrated from less ancient and warded parts of the Empire, and those who had learned to practice new trades while in the city.

  So Brannis had arranged for Mennon to contact the stone folk. Living for centuries as neighbors since their mutual excavations had run together, neither the folk of Raynesdark nor the stone folk had seemed interested in engaging in close contact, other than occasional trade in dire times. Brannis considered the times suff
iciently dire to engage with the folk again.

  The stone folk proved to be tough negotiators but straightforward in their manner. They were wide, stocky people, hairless and covered in thick, hard skin that lent them the name Kadrins called them. They spoke their own tongue, but it was based on the rune language, and in written form Brannis could communicate enough to arrange with them what he needed. The stone folk were all stonemasons in the manner that all humans are cooks. Not all were expert in the working of stone, but all could manage to some degree, and they had among their numbers those whose work was artistry itself.

  The cost of all the repairs the city needed was to be a majority share of the materials that had been gathered from Jadefire’s corpse. Brannis found it appropriate that the beast whose predations cost the city so much would be the source of their payment for rebuilding, with plenty still to spare for the Empire’s own use.

  Rashan had claimed choice bits of the creature for his own personal use, namely fangs and claws, along with a selection of choice scales from among the smallish ones near the joints. The rest he had allowed Brannis to allocate as he saw fit, and Brannis had traded much of it away. The stone folk had no interest in the flesh but coveted the bones and scales for their armor. Brannis knew not of the conflicts among the races that dwelt deep beneath the ground, but the stone folk were reputed to be fabulous armorers and weapon-smiths, scoffing at Brannis’s warnings about the difficulty of working the dragon-bits and their resistance to fire.

  As for that dragon flesh, men who had eaten it had largely grown sick. Raw meat sits well in few human stomachs, but those who braved the delicacy and kept it down saw certain benefits. In the several days Brannis had kept in the city, he had seen many a soldier impressing folk by holding his hand over a flame with no ill effect. After such displays, a small group devoted themselves to consuming as much of the dragon meat as they could stomach, for as long as it lasted.