Season of Fire

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

Keallach stood just outside the threshold of my door, and I was only a few steps away inside my room. And while I was as angry with him as he was with me, I couldn’t help feeling sick over the fact that we were so close, and yet it was like miles now stretched between us.

  “Good night, Keallach,” I said.

  Then I reached forward and slowly, but firmly, shut the door in the emperor’s face.

  RONAN

  There was no long, horrible journey back across the Great Expanse. This time Asher and Azarel had secured rides with Drifters that had a camp to the northwest of the Hoodites. We rode in the backs of trucks and Jeeps, meeting every furtive glance of the Drifters who were our hosts, wary that we were entering tenuous territory. But our armbands remained warm, and while the Drifters seemed cautious and suspicious, they had taken significant risks in order to aid us. If Asher and Azarel — and most of all Vidar, with his gifting to discern light from dark — ​thought they were trustworthy enough, then I had to believe my friends were right.

  But it did not escape me that every one of these Drifters was armed for war, many of them with guns I wished that Vidar could carry on this quest. Granted, the way the Drifters made a life demanded such armor. Yet if we ended up combatting them, it wouldn’t be long before we were disarmed, wounded, or dead, no matter how good we and the Aravanders were with our ancient weapons.

  My eyes moved to Asher, who was grinning and shouting back and forth in conversation with one of the Drifters riding beside him. He still seemed at ease, confident. But then that was his way, wherever he was. My eyes went to Vidar again. If he wasn’t sensing darkness ahead … well, I’d rest in that.

  We left the main road that cut through this part of the desert and rambled over a rocky plain, then entered the end of what appeared to be a dry arroyo. Trees and shade instantly cooled us the deeper down we went. It felt good to be away from the exposed plain of the desert, constantly fearful that a Pacifican drone or scouting party might spot us when we had nowhere to hide. And yet I kept reverting to fear, remembering how Dri was treated the last time we encountered Drifters. How Niero had been shot … How they’d hated our friends among the Hoodites.

  The Jeep that Killian, Tressa, Chaza’el, and I were riding in came to an abrupt stop, sending a big cloud of dust up and around us. The five other vehicles did the same. I coughed and squinted in the golden, dusty evening light, trying to see who all approached. There were more than fifty or sixty Drifters here in this camp. I could smell roasting meat on a spit and my mouth watered.

  Chaza’el edged past me and stood in front of us as we gathered together. “We are grateful that you provided us passage across the Expanse and a place to rest for the night. But we must see your blind leader now. It is most urgent.”

  Niero stepped up beside him, gave him a long look, and then folded his arms, waiting.

  The Drifters frowned and looked alarmed. Eventually, a burly, scarred, bald man was led through the crowd, stopping ten feet from Chaza’el. “Who told you I was blind?” he asked, letting go of the shoulder of the boy who led him.

  “The Maker told me,” Chaza’el said quietly.

  The leader narrowed in on his voice and stepped toward him. Niero blocked him by placing a hand to his chest. “We mean you no harm, brother,” he said quietly.

  The man shoved away his hand. “You are no brother to me,” he snarled. “And I will have the name of the one who identified me as blind to you. It is forbidden among us.”

  I frowned. What sort of mad control was this? Who could not refer to this chief without mentioning his weakness? And yet, maybe that was it. He didn’t want to appear so at all among a people famous for preying upon the weak …

  Chaza’el didn’t wince in the face of his brawn or fury. Instead he stepped forward, and I saw Tressa move to stand behind him, and Killian behind her.

  “I’ll tell you again, brother,” Chaza’el said. “We were sent here by the Maker, to a blind chief among the Drifters.”

  “A leader who shall see again this day,” Tressa added in a clear, high voice.

  Understanding flooded through me. This was why we’d been brought here. The work was beginning — ​

  “What is this?” cried the blind man. “Who has brought these people into my camp only to poke fun at me?”

  “We have not been brought,” Tressa said soothingly, reaching out to touch his arm. “We have been sent.” He started to shake off her fingers and then suddenly stopped, mouth dropping slightly open. It was as if he knew, then, just as surely as we all knew.

  “You … You are a healer?” he asked her. His voice seemed small though he was twice her size.

  “I am,” she said. “And I’ll say it again. Today, the Maker has sent us to heal you.”

  “The Maker is dead,” said the man. His words held not venom, but doubt.

  “The Maker is very much alive,” Niero said. He looked around at the others. “We are his people.”

  Some gasped, some scowled.

  “No one in their right mind admits to following the Maker,” the chief insisted. “If one of the warlords heard of it, they’d string you up!” He swore and spit, and then folded his arms. “That said, we might just do it ourselves and be done with you.” This brought a laugh from those around him.

  “The time for denial is past,” Vidar said. “We are for him or against him. And this day, friend, I suggest you slide toward the for-him side. You know, since he seems to want to heal you.”

  “I am as healed as I need be,” the chief said with a scowl, patting his broad chest encased in an old leather tunic.

  “You are fine leader,” Niero said. “A proud man. I understand that. What is your name?”

  “Sesille,” said the man, grudgingly.

  “Sesille,” Niero repeated. “The Maker forces no gifts upon his people. He only offers them freely. It is our choice whether we accept them or not. If someone came to you, freely offering a new truck to you, would you turn it down?”

  The chief folded his arms again. “It depends on what that man wanted in exchange for the truck.”

  “What if all that man giving you the truck wanted was understanding? Kinship? As well as thanks?”

  “Then I’d say that man has too many silver coins in his coffers.”

  The other Drifters laughed at this along with their chief.

  Niero, Tressa, and Chaza’el stood their ground, waiting him out. Kapriel edged forward then, too, joining us.

  Sesille’s broad smile faded and his opaque, unseeing eyes swept over us. I could almost feel him trying to sort out the way to go — ​whether to trust this impossible promise of sight or to send us away. Finally, he gave us a shrug. “Bah!” he cried, smiling around at his people. “What will it hurt to let them try healing this old man, other than my pride when they fail?”

  Tressa let everyone laugh at this, then she reached out to touch him. “Sesille, I will say my healing prayer whether you believe in it or not. But the Maker shall not heal you unless you believe in his power.”

  His face was utterly still for a moment. “It has been a very long time since I considered the Maker capable of anything.”

  “Is he not the creator of all that lives and breathes?” Kapriel asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sesille lifted his chin. “There are a few brats around this camp that were probably my doing,” he added, giving Kapriel a gap-toothed grin.

  “But it was the Maker who gave you the capability to beget those children,” Kapriel returned, without missing a beat. “It is the Maker who commands the wind.” He raised a hand, and a breeze swept through the trees around us, sending capes swinging and hats off heads. “It is the Maker who brings the rain.” He lifted both hands now. Above us, the scant clouds began to gather and darken. A woman cried out, fully weeping in terror. Everyone else stood stock still, staring upward. The cloud bank billowed, swirled, grew darker, and then with a wave from Kapriel, rain fell gently down upon us.

  People gasped and
cried out. Some fell to their knees.

  Sesille lifted a hand to his cheek, wiped the rain from it, and then rubbed his fingers back and forth, mouth agape in wonder. “Who are you?” he asked, his brows now crooked with a combination of fear and hope.

  “We are people of the Way,” Kapriel said. “The prophesied Remnants and our knights, as well as others who know the truth,” he looked around at the Aravanders, at Azarel, Asher, and Niero. “We were hoping that you and yours will be the next to know it.”

  Sesille nodded slowly and sank to his knees, his face lighter and softer with the wonder that settled in. “The prophesy. I didn’t believe it,” he said, his nod turning to a shake of his head. “I thought it a word for the old ones. Not for us.”

  “It is for all,” Tressa said. “Old and new. The Maker invites us all. But right now, he wishes for you to be healed. Do you believe?”

  It was raining hard now, the water carving rivulets through the sandy soil.

  Sesille turned his face up to her. “I believe,” he said solemnly.

  She knelt before him, bending to pick up two handfuls of the mud beside them. “Sesille of the Desert,” she said, “long have you wandered. But today, you take your first steps along the Way. The Maker has seen you and chosen you. Today, he gives you eyes to see too.”

  The rest of us fell into silent or whispered utterances of prayer as she wiped mud across Sesille’s closed eyes. I’d seen her heal a room full of patients stricken with the Cancer. I’d seen her straighten the goatherd’s crippled foot. I’d seen her seal Killian’s would. But it was as if I’d forgotten it all as I felt the Maker draw closer, the hairs on the back of my neck and arms lifting in anticipation.

  Gently, Tressa lifted Sesille’s face to the pounding rain, praying as it washed away the mud bit by bit. We all stood there, spellbound, ignoring the fact that our clothes were becoming drenched. When the last of the mud disappeared from Sesille’s face, Kapriel lifted his palms and the torrent of rain slowed to a drizzle, then completely stopped. Still, Tressa prayed. Kapriel made a gesture and the clouds above us divided.

  We all held our breath as Tressa released the Drifter’s leader.

  His head bowed and he blinked several times.

  Then Sesille laughed, coughed, sputtered … his hands turning slowly before his face.

  “I can see,” he said slowly. “I can see!” he shouted. He reached for Tressa as he rose, lifting her in his arms. Killian had moved to intercede, but Niero stopped him, gesturing toward the Drifter chieftain as he turned her in a joyous circle, celebrating, not intending her any sort of harm. “Praise the Maker!” Sesille shouted. “I can see! I can see!”

  “Praise the Maker!” cried the others around us. “Praise the Maker! The Remnants have come!”

  CHAPTER

  21

  ANDRIANA

  When I’d calmed down later and tried the door, I found it unlocked, and the guards that had been there were gone. Keallach was trusting me, at least to stay within the confines he’d dictated in the palace. But if I could get to other rooms, other doors, other stairwells, might I not find a way out of the palace itself? It would be wise to seize the opportunity, in case things with Keallach took a bad turn. Today — ​well, today had scared me. Somehow, he was drawing me in as much as I sought to draw him away. And he wasn’t consistent. One moment my brother, yearning to connect, the next moment entirely the emperor, irritated that I might not do everything he demanded.

  I exited my room and quietly shut the door. No guards hovered in doorways nearby and no one appeared. I peered down the hall and gaped upward. Three crystal chandeliers had glowing bulbs on their many stems, and distantly I recalled the word — ​electricity. The light reflected on the shiny, dark marble floor and papered walls, and I marveled at it. What would it be like to have light anytime you wished to have it? In the bedrooms — ​at least mine — ​there were only gas lamps and candles, but in the public spaces, the palace appeared to be fully wired.

  To my left, at the end of the hall, was a doorway that I supposed would lead to a servants’ staircase. To my right, in the distance, I could hear voices rising and falling. An argument? I was torn between my desire to find out who was there and what they were talking about and my need to figure out an escape route. I chose the stairwell. There’d be time enough for intrigue; there might not be ample time to figure a way out.

  Sucking in my breath, I entered the stairwell and curved down it, rushing past the second floor and down to the first, assuming that’d be the best place to find an exit. My heart leaped with hope until I rounded the final curve and saw two guards in gray uniforms, who each quickly rose when they saw me.

  “Good evening, miss,” said one, bending his head in a slight bow. “Is there something you need help with?”

  “No, no, I, uh … I seem to have become lost.” I noted the barricaded door behind them. My way out …

  The two shared a knowing look and then glanced to me. “The captain said you’re not to go past the second floor. Anywhere on the second or third is all right, but not down here. So if you want, you can go up one floor. That’s where you’ll find a library and sitting room. Or go back up to the third, and you’ll be on your floor again.”

  “Oh, right, right,” I said, feigning relief, knowing they knew I lied. I turned and scurried up the stairs with the irrational fear that they might decide to chase me back up to my quarters.

  I made myself pause at the second floor door. If I couldn’t flee, might I discover something else that would prove useful in time? Carefully, I opened the door. It was with some relief that I saw that this hall too was empty, but I also could hear ghostly voices, ringing in echoes and then fading. Whoever they were, they were closer on this floor. With a glance downstairs to make sure the guards did not follow me up to see where I went, I slipped through the door and padded down the hall, the marble beneath my feet cold and smooth, the voices growing steadily louder. Two guards stood at the far end of the hall, near the main staircase, but their backs were to me. They nudged each other and laughed, chatting, clearly absorbed in their own conversation.

  As I stole closer to the room with the arguing men, I knew that Sethos had to be one of them.

  So he was back. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take another step forward, hovering near the shut door, and not flee.

  “You hurt her, Sethos,” Keallach was saying, his voice carrying easily across the marble floor and beneath the crack at the bottom of the door. I crouched, in order to hear better. “Left her for days in that room, her wounds unattended! Had not Max discovered her —”

  “She would have been fine. I merely meant to show her that she could not behave like a rebel in your court. If you insist on her presence, I must insist on respectful behavior.”

  “And what could she have possibly done that would warrant such a response?”

  Sethos paused. “She bit me, your highness. And the girl has been as thoroughly trained as you yourself were. She’s hardly a Pacifican flower, incapable of self-defense.”

  “And you are more than capable of taking her into custody if she proves to be … unwieldy. I do not want you to harm her again. Do you understand me?”

  Sethos said nothing for a long moment, then begrudgingly, “Agreed, Highness, unless she gives me no other choice. That is all I can promise.”

  Keallach paused, and I could feel the tension between them from where I stood. Good, I thought. Perhaps I can divide them. It had to be done if I was to have any true chance to turn Keallach back toward the Way.

  Their voices dropped to an undertone and I leaned against the door, in order to hear better. “Does your agitation not stem from a deeper draw toward Andriana, perhaps?” Sethos asked.

  I froze, my back to the wall, my pulse thundering in my ears.

  “You have become far too familiar, Sethos,” Keallach said icily.

  The other man was silent a moment. “I do not understand why you cannot find another way to reso
lve your past … issues. The Ailith bond has been broken. You cannot reestablish it.”

  “I don’t believe that. I feel it still. So does Andriana. I know she does! The Six concur with me — ​if there is a way for me to reunite with my kin, it will be all the easier to build the empire. Together, we would embody the foretold. Who would come against us?”

  My mind raced. So he was thinking of joining us? Or using us?

  “And yet the Ailith think of me as a mortal enemy,” Sethos said carefully. “How do you see that resolved?”

  Keallach paused. “I’ll help them understand in time. We did what we had to. The most important thing is moving forward from here.”

  “And you believe,” Sethos said slowly, “that Kapriel will come to understand that too?”

  Keallach’s voice was tight. “I don’t care for your mocking.”

  “I don’t intend to mock, Highness, only to be … pragmatic. This is not something we can simply hope for. Every step must be strategic. Planned.”

  “Yes, well, not everything in life can be planned, Sethos. Listen, it is enough for tonight. We can resume this conversation in the morning.”

  My heart stopped as I realized they were ending their conversation, and I turned to tiptoe away, freezing when I heard Keallach’s boot heels clicking across the marble, coming closer, and the door swinging open with a complaining creak. When he didn’t pause or come after me, I dared to look over my shoulder and took a breath. Keallach was walking away, apparently having missed me there, in the opposite direction, toward the central staircase. How could he not have sensed me? His head was bent, as if in deep thought. Maybe he was too distracted — ​

  But what came next was worse. Sethos stepped forward, looking after his master. Then his nostrils flared and he slowly turned toward me. He glanced back, obviously waiting for Keallach to clear the hallway, the guards following their monarch, then strode toward me. I tried to flee but he wrapped an arm around me and roughly pulled me back against him, covering my mouth with one hand. “Did you hear quite enough?” he whispered in my ear. He practically picked me up and rushed me to the servants’ stairwell at the far end of the hall, the one I’d used. I struggled against him, but he was too strong, his arms like a vise. Once we were through the door, he released me and allowed me to face him.