Season of Fire

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  The threat rose up within Sethos, so dark and overwhelming that it felt as if it reached out and choked me.

  I swallowed hard, and with the last of my strength refused to shrink from him.

  Sethos laughed, under his breath, slid his eyes toward Jala and back to me. “Ah, yes,” he said, reaching out to stroke the line of my jaw. I moved away, disgusted, but he ignored my slight. “There is an empress within this one.” He dropped his hand and leaned close, his breath cool on my neck. “She simply needs to be awakened.”

  They left me then, and in their wake the three maidservants entered, chattering about what an impression I’d made at the ball, congratulating themselves on a job well done. As if I were a mere doll that they could dress and wind up and then watch dance the night away. And perhaps that’s what I was.

  Nothing more than a shell of what I once was.

  The betrayer of all I held dear.

  A fighter, vanquished.

  Misery blanketed me, enfolded me in his arms.

  And in his firm embrace, I slept.

  CHAPTER

  27

  RONAN

  They won’t allow this to go on,” Asher said, looking behind him as we trudged up a hill days later, with more than a thousand following behind. Some were in vehicles. Many more were on foot. “Even if it’s not in their official territory.”

  Niero looked over his shoulder and adjusted his pack straps before taking the next step. “No. They won’t.”

  “When they come, I want to be captured,” I said.

  “You what?” Bellona asked, catching up.

  “When they come, I want to be captured,” I said, still not looking at anyone but Niero. He would understand me. Know what I was after. To get to Dri. The fastest way possible. Regardless of the cost.

  He stood there, staring at me with his dark eyes. “You are certain,” he said.

  I nodded. “I belong there. With her. In any way I can.”

  “Wait, what?” Vidar asked. “You’re saying you want the bad guys to nab you and haul you to their dark, foul dungeon, and what? That’s some part of the Maker’s plan? Listen, man, we’re aware you’re a studly knight and all, but we’re talking dungeons. Sheolites outnumbering you twenty to one.”

  “And my charge, somewhere near,” I said, still not looking from Niero.

  “No, Ronan,” Vidar said, grabbing hold of my forearm. “No. It’s suicide.” But I noticed Bellona said nothing. She understood.

  I only waited on Niero.

  He paused, took a breath, looked down and then, once our gazes met again, he gave me a single nod.

  My heart both stopped and soared in that single instant. I couldn’t believe it, and yet it was as if I’d known it all along. This was my path back to Andriana.

  I looked out to the plain before us as the others trudged on — ​Vidar still glancing back at me in consternation — ​and in the distance, I could see the outline of Castle Vega. Here, in the shadow of a walled city well known as enemy territory, the first step back to Dri would be taken. Finally. The hours since our parting yawned, the chasm between us widening as a horrific, dark pit. I had to get to her. We were destined to make it through — ​but we needed each other. Me, my Remnant; she, her knight. I swallowed. It went deeper now. I needed her as a woman. She needed me as a man. And somehow, some way, in time, the Maker would make that right.

  An hour later, we set up camp.

  “We’re certain this is the place we’re supposed to be?” Vidar asked, lifting a wary brow toward the horizon. “Isn’t it a bit too much like thumbing our nose at them?”

  “Probably,” Tressa said, passing him and setting down a basket. “But this is where we are to be.”

  “Can we camp farther away?” Killian asked her, setting down another basket beside hers and nodding in the opposite direction.

  “The Maker is asking us to take bigger and bigger risks,” Niero said. “Do not give in to fear. Trust him, in where he leads, no matter how it appears.”

  Vidar stared at the silhouette of Castle Vega in the distance, then back to him. “That’s screaming risk to me. Am I the only one?”

  “No,” I said, passing by him. “Deeper in we go. Trusting him all the while. Right?”

  “Right, brother,” he said, touching my fist with his. But I didn’t miss that he was a little more hesitant than normal.

  The people surged around us, and Killian had to bodily push men and women away from Tressa’s hastily erected tent. Several other men had volunteered to help protect her from the masses, who had become more and more demanding every day. I’d thought that the more Tressa healed, the more respect she’d obtain. But in fact, the stories only seemed to fuel the frenzy. In their weakness, the people flocked to her, and in their desperation, they became like pecking hens. The men had to establish a perimeter around our camp so that she could move with some freedom among us.

  They gasped over what Kapriel could summon from the skies.

  They marveled at how Chaza’el could foretell the future.

  But it was Tressa’s gift they hungered for. The paralytics. The men with wasting diseases. Women who couldn’t bear children. Children growing with deformities. And everywhere we went, the Cancer. The ever-present Cancer. Eating at people’s guts. Stealing their breath. And during every waking hour, for as long as she could move, Tressa blessed and prayed and healed everyone the Maker sent to her.

  Their stunning numbers only brought new pilgrims to find us.

  We used the opportunity to gather them, morning and night. To tell them of the Way. To remind them what was inborn within them all, that deep, abiding hunger for something eternal. Something more than themselves and this relentless struggle to make it through another day. To hear. To serve. To experience joy, abundant joy.

  Asher was preaching this night, calling out until his voice became hoarse, so eager was he that all could hear. They hovered near, eyes wide, and hope was so vivid among them that it brought tears to my eyes. I longed for Dri to be here so she could see what was happening. How people were answering the Call, just as we had.

  “You come to us,” Asher said, “hungry for hope. It has been a long while since hope wafted up, like the fragrance of Harvest after a long, cold Hoarfrost. But here they are.” He gestured toward us. “The foretold Remnants and Knights. They gather now to serve the Maker, as you and I are called to serve the Maker.”

  He paused as people gasped and shouted and talked about his use of the Name, as he knew they would.

  “For generations, the Maker’s name has been forbidden by those who wield power. Why? Why? Because it threatens others who hold power. They seek to be gods themselves! But in fact, no one holds true power other than the Maker. And it is he who has sent the Remnants to us at last, to lead us forward. To lead us out of darkness and into the light!”

  Asher and Kapriel kept preaching, dividing up so more could hear them. People were either weeping or praising the Maker as the sun set, committing to join in Community and follow the Way from then on. Tressa healed one person after another — ​those in need thronged about us — ​and yet still more journeyed toward our camp. We could see their dancing torches in the distance, serpentine lines along the dark of the desert floor. Several self-appointed scouts rolled in, and I tensed, waiting to hear.

  The first man jumped from a mudhorse and straightened his tunic.

  “What’d you see?” Bellona barked, turning from helping Killian protect Tressa for a moment. “Anybody heading our way from Castle Vega?”

  “Not yet. From what we can determine, people continue to pour out of desert villages, but no one from behind the city’s walls.”

  We all seemed to take a breath of relief with this news. I turned to Vidar. “What about you? Sense anything?”

  “No,” he said, blinking fast, grinning in awe. “Just the presence of the Maker. Chaz is right. He wants us here now for a reason.”

  “Yeah, well, Tressa’s not going to hold up much
longer,” Bellona said. “We need to call for a break until morning. Give her time to rest.”

  Niero nodded and circled some men and women around. He then sent them out to encourage the people to make camp, cook some dinner, and prepare to bed down, but also to keep weapons ready in case we encountered enemies during the night. Then he shouted to the crowd, several hundred deep around us, “Our healer needs to rest! She will reach as many of you as she can come morning! But for now, we ask you to send just the youngest forward! Any child who hasn’t reached their first decade in need of healing, send them forward! Make way!”

  His eyes met Tressa’s for a moment, and she knew what he was after, nodding in understanding. The crowd grew quiet, only the weeping of mothers and frightened children audible. A circle of guards held the crowd out about ten steps from a bonfire where Tressa stood. Small children crawled between legs and ducked under the guards’ entwined arms to enter in. Others were passed overhead, from person to person, until one of the Ailith took them in their arms. In all, there were seven children. Two infants, one pale and gasping for breath, frightfully thin, the other with a monstrous tumor growing on his head. Both barely opened their eyes from weakness, clearly on the edge of death. There were three toddlers, two of them unable to walk, one with the Cancer. That one cried, hot tears and snot running down his face, and clutched his belly, calling for his mother, but when Vidar picked him up, he quieted to doleful hiccups. And there were two older children, one with a leg that had clearly not been set right when broken, and another with the Cancer.

  Tressa gathered the children together and took the two infants in her arms, then turned to the crowd, walking slowly past them. “The Maker is the One who has given us all life. It is his enemy that brings us death. But if we believe in the One who saves, if we trust him with our very lives and turn to him, commit our lives to him, he can heal us, even if there is no Remnant present at all. We have been called to awaken the Maker’s people, to fight against those who hate him. There is a better way, a better life for all of us. And for these children, it begins now, with healing. Pray with me now! Pray for the Maker to come and make these children whole!”

  Tressa bent over one baby, whispering words of prayer, closing her eyes and kissing him softly on the forehead, then handing him back to the crowd to send him back to his mother. Then she placed the other on the ground, covering his horrific tumor with her hands, and I prayed with her, even as I kept an eye on the masses around us. But the people were staying obediently still, or raising their hands in prayer, clearly aware, as we were, that they were experiencing something far beyond anything they’d experienced before.

  The first baby reached his mother and the woman cried out, thanking the Maker, crying out her praise. “He breathes! Look at how he breathes! Look at his skin! He smiles!” She wept, then, completely breaking down. But still Tressa kept praying for the next child before her.

  Tressa looked up to the sky, and I saw her smile, tears running down her cheeks too. She lifted away her hands, and we could see that the baby’s skull was now normal, the tumor disappeared. She tenderly lifted the babe in her hands, smiling into his eyes and whispered, “Welcome back, little brother. Always serve the Maker who made and saved you.” With a kiss she turned him, so the crowd could see, and everyone gasped and cheered.

  “Keep praying with Tressa!” Kapriel called. “The Maker revels in our collective praise!”

  Vidar was nodding, tears running down his cheeks, and I could tell from his expression that we were not alone. The angels were with us. Watching? Serving as witnesses? Or shielding us from the dark ones? It mattered not to me. I welcomed their presence.

  Tressa turned to the others, and looked at them solemnly. “By your faith, you will be healed. Believe in the Maker, the One who has brought you here today, with your families and friends. Believe that he will make you whole.” Then, she moved from one child to the next, bending to pray over each — ​the one with the deformed leg, the others with the Cancer, the paralyzed. She spent no more than a few seconds with each child, laying her hands on their head, or legs, or belly and then moving on. But as she passed, each was healed.

  We could all see it. Those closest to us fell to their knees, their hands reaching for the sky, praising the Maker. Others farther out, now able to see too, did the same. I grinned and took to my knees as well, caught up in the glory and miracle of the Maker, on the move among us in such a tangible way. “Thank you, Maker,” I said through my tears, “thank you for the honor of serving you. You are mighty! You are holy! We are yours!”

  We were sound asleep when Vidar, who’d been on watch with Bellona, shook me awake. “Company coming,” he said, moving on to Killian, who was already stirring.

  I was on my feet in seconds, pulling on my jacket and grabbing hold of my sword. I didn’t bother to strap it on — ​I needed to get outside fast.

  The vehicle that pulled up to our camp was in finer condition than any others we’d ever seen outside of Pacifica, the paint reflecting the waning bonfire beside me, the windows free of cracks. Killian and I shared a long look as other Drifters came up behind us, weapons at the ready. Two Aravanders drew back arrows across their bows.

  “Nobody fire unless I command it,” Niero said. “Understood?”

  The driver’s door of the enclosed Jeep opened, and we saw hands first. “Don’t shoot! We mean you no harm!”

  “Come out, slowly. Alone.”

  The man rose, and we could see he was in a Pacifican lord’s tunic and boots. I stiffened.

  But Kapriel sputtered a name under his breath. “Cyrus?” he said again, louder and clearer this time. “Is that you?”

  Lord Cyrus’s tense face broke into a smile of wonder. “Kapriel?”

  Kapriel broke away from our line and went over to him. The two embraced, the sort of hug that spoke of long-separated but dear friends. When they broke apart, I saw tears in Lord Cyrus’s eyes. I sidled closer to Vidar. “Anything?” I whispered, wondering if he was sensing danger that I could not.

  “No. The guy’s clean.”

  I laughed under my breath. A Pacifican lord? Why would he be here, in our camp?

  “You recognize him, right?” Vidar asked me.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head and searching his features again. We’d met. Somewhere.

  “That’s Lord Cyrus, one of the Six. One of Keallach’s Council.”

  I frowned. “You sure he’s clean?”

  “Yeah. Check out your arm cuff. Neutral, right? Maybe even a little warm?”

  “Right,” I said. But it didn’t make any sense.

  Cyrus and Kapriel spoke for several long moments, then Kapriel turned to us. “He has a woman with him. They need to see Tressa.”

  Understanding dawned. One thing had forced Lord Cyrus to risk everything in order to see us. To bridge the gap between him and a long-lost friend, a step that might brand him a traitor.

  He needed a healer.

  Kapriel came closer to us.

  “He could be a spy, Kapriel,” Killian said.

  “He could be,” Kapriel allowed, nodding. “But I choose to believe he might be the most critical friend we could make. Let us see this through and find out where the Maker is leading us, yes?”

  “I don’t trust it,” Killian said.

  “Face it, man. You hardly trust anything but the Maker,” Vidar said. “I think your Rem needs to heal your attitude.”

  Killian scowled at him, but then left to wake Tressa. A woman handed him a gas lamp and soon her tent glowed with warm light. I turned to see Lord Cyrus return to his car. He’d taken a huge risk coming here — ​not only the fear of being branded a traitor, but also the risk of us kidnapping him or stealing his vehicle because he’d come without a single armed guard.

  Cyrus lifted a woman in Pacifican dress from the other side of the vehicle, every aspect of his movement tender and caring. The sight of the dress sent a pang of longing through me, for Dri. She’d been so pretty in a gown
like that, and likely wore one now.

  Kapriel led Lord Cyrus into Tressa’s tent, gesturing for Vidar and me to join them. The knights took up watch around the tent, and Niero leaned toward an Aravander who’d joined us. “Assemble and send four teams of Aravanders and Drifters to scout farther out than the others already in rotation. I want to know if anyone else is coming our way.”

  “On it,” he said, padding off.

  Reassured that we had reasonable protection, I entered the tent. They’d laid the woman on Tressa’s bedroll, and gathered around her. She was lovely, about our age, with long, sable-brown hair that waved about her horribly pale face. My breath caught, wondering if she was already dead.

  “She’s been poisoned,” Cyrus said to Tressa, lifting the woman’s hand in his. “Please, you must save her. I love her.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t stay in the castle and watch her die. I knew you could save her.”

  “Who poisoned her?” Killian barked.

  A flash of guilt appeared on Cyrus’s face. “I know not. Her name is Justina. She’s a consort at court. They are there to … entertain us.”

  I saw that he had the decency to blush a bit over this, and liked him a little more. Andriana had told me enough of the ways of the Six while at Castle Vega. It didn’t take much imagination to understand what he meant.

  “My family … my position … I am meant to wed another soon, in Pacifica. But this woman …” He turned desperate eyes toward Tressa. “I love her. Please, save her. She’s one of you. A devotee of the Maker. It was she who whispered to me of your presence. She wanted me to come with her, to run away from Pacifica.” He shook his head and brought up a hand to his face. “It’s impossible, what she was asking. But she doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “She was poisoned because someone knew her to be a follower of the Way?” Niero asked, eyes hardening.

  “No,” Kapriel replied grimly, for Cyrus, figuring it out. “She was poisoned because she held Lord Cyrus’s heart. And he is betrothed to another.”

  Justina’s breathing became more rapid, her color fading to gray as we watched. Tressa knelt across from Cyrus and took up Justina’s other hand. “You must know, Lord Cyrus,” she said softly, “that we were sent here to bring the people back to the Maker. Are you a follower of the Maker?”