Fire & Chasm

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  “One.”

  And if I become his apprentice, he’ll own me. He’ll send his fire into my head and shine lights into all the dark places that are best left forgotten. He’ll dredge every dark memory up to the surface, and while I don’t know what he hopes to find, I know with absolute certainty that it will shatter me.

  But for Leora, I would do it. I would let him break me if it would mean she lives.

  “Two.”

  I wrap my arms around myself, already anticipating having to hold myself together. The image of the chair flashes in my mind. There’s a reason I don’t remember anything, a reason why it should stay that way.

  “Three. Time’s up.” He sucks in a breath, getting ready to shout for the guards.

  “No, wait. Wait.”

  “You’ll be my apprentice?” He taps his long fingers together, practically giddy with anticipation.

  “I . . .” Sweat drips down my back. My mouth moves so slowly, not wanting to say the words. I can’t let the guards take me, and I can’t let him mess with my head. “I’ll . . .”

  “Yes?” He cups a hand to his ear.

  And then it hits me. What Hadrin said last night, about the wizards getting tipped off by someone from the Church. I might be completely wrong, but . . . only two people besides me knew the Church was behind the murders, and one of them is standing right in front of me. “I’m not going to be your apprentice, and you’re not going to call the guards. Because if you do, I’m going to tell everyone what you did.”

  He snorts. “She has burn marks all over her, made from a knife. I’m the High Priest and you’re a street-urchin-turned-altar-boy Father Moors dragged in. Who do you think the Church is going to believe?” His smile says it all—he thinks he has me right where he wants me.

  But that’s where he’s wrong. “I think they’ll believe me when I tell them it was you who informed the wizards that the Church is behind their disappearances.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But I see the surprise flicker across his face, and I don’t think I’m so far off. “Let me go, or I’ll tell everyone exactly how you betrayed your order.”

  “And why would they believe something so far-fetched? And from a murderer?”

  “They wouldn’t. Not at first. But the king and queen would when the High Guild handed over the letter you sent. The one with the Church’s own seal on it and your handwriting all over it.” He could have dictated the letter, but that would mean letting someone else in on his secret.

  “How do you—” He hesitates, and when he speaks again, the slightest tremor creeps into his voice. “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? You want me to call the guards and test that theory?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. And neither will the rest of the Church when they find out their high priest sold them out to their enemies.”

  “It was for the greater good. I’m the High Priest—I know what’s best for them, and how dare you accuse me of anything less.”

  “Let me go. Now.”

  “You’re not going to tell anyone, because if you do, I’ll turn you in. You’ll hang for your crimes.”

  “And you’ll be cast out of the Church. Excommunicated. The only person who’s ever meant anything to me is in that room, dying, because of you. And if I can’t save her, then I’ve got nothing left to lose. But you, you’ve still got everything. So what’s it going to be? You have three seconds before I call the guards—”

  He steps aside, giving me room to pass. “It’s not what you think.”

  “What I think is that I’m never going to work for you. I’m never going to be your apprentice or let you put your filthy hands on me to try and see inside my head.”

  “You say that now, but when you change your mind—”

  “I won’t.”

  “But when you do, when you realize I’m working toward something bigger than both of us, you know where to find me.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I pound on the door to Hadrin’s room at the inn next to the Silver Hound. He said to come here if I changed my mind. I swore I wouldn’t. I swore nothing could ever make me go near him again.

  He must have believed me, because his eyebrows jump up and his forehead wrinkles when he opens the door. “Azeril?”

  I hold up my left arm, pointing to my scar. “Who did this to me?”

  “You did. You know that perfectly well. What are you . . .” He peers at my face. He must notice I’ve been crying, because he glances away, as if he’s just seen something he shouldn’t have.

  “I know I did it,” I tell him. I remember the sweet euphoria of the knife sinking into flesh. The excruciating pain of every nerve alive and on fire. “I need to know who healed it.”

  He frowns. He looks back and forth down the hallway, then beckons for me to come inside. There’s a split second when I consider not following. But I do. Of course I do.

  His room is plain but comfortable. There’s a large soft-looking bed, a desk with papers and books piled all over it, a white couch that takes up half of one wall, and a little wooden table. Flames crackle in the fireplace, giving the room a cozy feel.

  “What happened to you?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he means today or over the past three years.

  “I’ll do anything you want. Please, just tell me who healed me.”

  He gestures to the couch. I shake my head. Hadrin sighs and pours two cups of tea, not bothering to ask if I want one. He’s ignoring my question, as if time doesn’t matter. As if each second that ticks by isn’t slicing through him like a knife.

  Must just be me.

  He tries to offer me a cup. I shake my head again, but he shoves it into my hands anyway. I can’t hold it steady, and the cup clatters against the saucer.

  “Nothing was ever solved with hysteria,” he says.

  Like I’m going to drink anything he gives me.

  He pulls a chair closer and sits down, leaving me the couch, but I keep standing. “You don’t remember who healed you.” It’s not a question, more like a tentative statement, offering me the chance to correct him.

  “You said it wasn’t you. Just tell me who did it, because I don’t have time for this. I promise, I’ll come back. As soon as she’s all right, I’ll be back. And . . . I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “So there’s a she,” he mutters. “Of course there is. You’ve grown up.”

  “Do you not understand what I’m saying to you?” A couple drops of scalding hot tea splash against my hand, it’s shaking so hard. “I’ll be your weapon, or whatever it is you want from me.” Whoever he wants me to kill. I’ll be the monster. Even if I can never tell Leora, even if I can never be with her. As long as I can save her.

  “It was you,” he says. “You healed yourself.”

  He’s joking. He has to be. Except he’s not smiling. If anything, he looks upset. “I didn’t. It’s impossible.”

  “One of us remembers that night and one of us doesn’t. I have nothing to gain by lying to you. You used a spell and you healed your arm. You rinsed the blood off in a fountain, and you told me you were fine. That you could get home on your own and that if I even thought about following you, you would stick the knife down my throat and slit me from the inside out.” He says it calmly, then takes a sip of his tea. As if he’d just described something as mundane as making his bed in the morning.

  “Sounds like something I’d say, but it doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “I assure you, you did. And you cast that spell, not me. I’m afraid you don’t need my help, after all.”

  “But . . .” I sink down onto the couch. I stare into my cup, watching bits of leaves swirl around, mimicking my thoughts.

  Last night, I almost cast something on that wizard who threatened me. “You’re telling me I cast a spell. A wizard spell?”

  “You really don’t remember?”

  “There are a lot of things I don’t
remember. I don’t suppose you memorized it?”

  He laughs. “You’re joking.”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” I glare at him. “The girl I love is dying.” It feels strange to admit something so personal. But he knows everything else. And of all the secrets I have, it’s the only one I’m not ashamed of.

  “You’re in love. Or you think you are.” He scoffs a little, like he finds that amusing and hard to believe.

  I start to get up. “If you’re not going to help me—”

  “Then what? You’ll find someone else?”

  “I don’t see you doing anything.”

  “And what exactly am I supposed to do? Wave my hand and magically make everything better?” He pauses. “How could you have forgotten? It’s only been two days. And . . . it’s impossible.”

  “I—I don’t remember anything. Not since I came here three years ago. Sometimes there are bits and pieces, little flashes, just not . . . not spells.”

  His eyes widen. There’s a crash as his cup and saucer drop from his hands onto the hardwood floor. A chunk of the cup handle breaks off and skitters to my feet. What’s left of his tea escapes across the floorboards. Hadrin gets up, turning away from me, holding a hand over his mouth like he can’t believe what I’ve just said. Like he might be sick.

  “Nothing?” he hisses. Then his voice rises to a shout. “You’re telling me you remember nothing?! You useless, useless boy!” He tears at his hair. He stomps across the room, getting as far away from me as possible without actually leaving. He covers his face with his hands and takes a long, shuddering breath. When he speaks again, he’s no longer shouting. “But you remembered a spell last night. And two nights before that.”

  Both times, I was in danger. And there were wizards.

  A dark room. A broken boy in a chair. Screaming.

  I set my cup on the end table and get up from the couch, moving to stand in front of Hadrin. Unable to believe what I’m about to do. “There might be a way you can help.” I spread my arms out, making myself open, vulnerable. Leora’s dying. I have no choice. There’s no other way I would ever do this. “You can hurt me.”

  His mouth twists in disgust as he realizes I mean it. His pupils dilate so wide, his light-blue irises almost disappear. “Absolutely not.”

  I ball up my hands and expose my wrists, offering them to him. “Please. Whatever it takes.”

  “No.” He’s shaking, and he can’t look at me.

  “Tie me to the chair.” The words scrape my throat. Even as I say them, my hand twitches, wanting to reach for the knife. I grab it from its sheath and drop it to the floor, kicking it away. I force him to make eye contact with me. “You’ve done it before, haven’t you? You think I’m the one who likes causing pain, but you’re no better than I am. You used to hurt me. I know you did. You—”

  “No!” He shoves me away from him.

  I stumble back a step. It’s not enough. A wizard cowering in fear was only ever good for one thing, and I’ve already dropped the knife.

  He stares at his hands, horrified that he pushed me. “I didn’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I told them what to do, but I . . . It was a mistake, all of it. I swore I’d never hurt you again!”

  “And I swore I’d kill you. Sometimes we break our promises.”

  “I can’t. Not this. Ask me to do anything but this.”

  “She’s dying! She’s dying and she doesn’t have much time, and you’re the only one who can help! I need to remember that spell, so I’m telling you—I don’t care how you do it. Just hurt me.”

  He raises his arm, as if to strike me. As if to slap me across the face. But he wavers. His arm hovers in the air, unmoving. And then he crumples to the floor. “Leave,” he says, his voice cold and hard. “Get out of here!”

  “Please. Please—”

  “I won’t listen to this. I won’t listen to you begging me to hurt you!”

  “It has to be a wizard.” And there’s no way I could ever let another one put his hands on me. “It has to be you. It can’t be anyone else.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut. Then he opens them, getting to his feet. “Get out.”

  “Make me.”

  His nostrils flare. “I can’t be a part of this. I won’t.”

  “It’s life or death. You think I’d ask you to do this if it wasn’t? If I had any other choice?!”

  “No,” he says. “But I hope you understand I don’t have any other choice.” He moves past me, toward the door, and storms out of his own room.

  He abandons me. Just like that.

  I don’t remember any spells, but I do remember this. It feels so familiar, him leaving me alone with my fears.

  After all, there’s a reason I swore I’d kill him. There’s a reason he deserves it.

  But now isn’t the time to think about it. Not with Leora lying in a dark room of her own. If Hadrin won’t make me remember, then . . .

  Then I have to go crawling back to the one person who will.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I’m sitting in the pews in the chapel with Endeil, side by side. Alone. It’s creepy and dark in here, only a few candles in the corner casting any light. “I’ll be your apprentice,” I tell him, the words hot in my throat, cutting me like knives.

  “Yes. You will.”

  “Nothing’s changed. I don’t believe what you believe, about some stupid destiny. I just need to know what’s in my head. I can bring her back if you . . . Just get my memories back and let me save her, and then I’ll do whatever you want. That’s the deal.”

  “You don’t believe you have a greater destiny, but you believe you can bring the girl you love back from the very brink of death?”

  “Do we have a deal or not?”

  “Oh, we most certainly have a deal.” Endeil clasps his hands together, the edges of his mouth curling into a grin. He doesn’t have to say “I’ve got you right where I want you” or “I said you’d be back.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I say, my voice echoing off the walls. “Don’t you dare look at me like that. Not after what you did to her.”

  “And how am I looking at you? Like you threw my offer in my face and then came to me only hours later, desperate for me to take you back? Whatever I did to her, I did for you. The way I sent our enemies that letter. The wizards have been dragging people from their homes and making them disappear into the night for years. They torture them, for what purpose I don’t know, and they seize their property. And as long as the Guild pays their taxes and keeps the royal coffers full, the Monarchy turns a blind eye. Everyone knows, and nobody says a thing. Nobody stands up to them. You know that better than anyone. And now I sent them that letter and everyone is up in arms. Every acolyte, every priest, and every student of the Sacred Flame is talking about it. They’re outraged about the lies they think the wizards told to put themselves in power. They’re watching the wizards’ every move now, questioning what it’s all for and wondering why exactly the Monarchy would side with them. And what did we lose? A few measly seats in court that no one was taking seriously. Everyone knows those positions are filled by old men, by ancient priests who want to sleep through law discussions and collect their pensions. Never arguing, never even listening to what’s going on! No one was ever going to see the truth. They were just going to keep their heads down and never think about the world around them.”

  “You gave the wizards power over us, over everyone, just to piss people off.”

  “You’re missing the point. And here I thought you were smart. But you weren’t smart enough to listen to me when I told you that you were going to be my apprentice. You think I wanted to hurt her?”

  “Yes.” He’s a monster, just like me. But unlike me, he doesn’t care who he hurts or whether they deserve it.

  “You needed motivation. Believe what you want, but we will change the world, and for the better. The Fire has put me on the noblest of paths, and I will stop at nothing to see it to the en
d.”

  Maybe he really believes that, but I can’t believe the Fire would want him to hurt someone like Leora. Even if the Fire does favor him, the idea that his ends justify his means is all in his head.

  A slight draft makes the candlelight waver across the walls. I could kill him, like I told Father Moors. Two swift movements, one to grab the knife, the other to stab it through his heart, and this would be over. The world would be safe from him and his great destiny. But then Leora would die.

  And anyway, I didn’t just say I’d kill him, I said it would be slow. I said I’d make him burn.

  “The next time you think about crossing me, just remember that if you’d decided to become my apprentice when I first asked you, we wouldn’t be here right now. She wouldn’t be lying on her deathbed, and you wouldn’t have had to come crawling to me for forgiveness.” He licks his lips, savoring his words. “But, then again, I kind of liked that part.”

  Anger boils my blood, emanating heat. I realize my fingertips are on the knife, just grazing it. Just enough to burn. I force myself to let go. I put my hands between my knees, squeezing them together. It’s several seconds before the rage subsides enough for me to speak. “Whatever I did, I’m not the one who put that knife in her.”

  “That’s odd,” he says, “because I don’t know who else could have done it. Who else could have used obsidian that way?”

  “Maybe you should find him and make him your apprentice.”

  He grins. “But I’ve already asked you.”

  To anyone who might walk into the chapel, our hushed conversation might sound like just a young acolyte conversing with the High Priest while he’s in town, maybe hoping to win his favor. Maybe hoping to become his apprentice. They’d see the boy, the simple acolyte, and have no idea his knees are shaking from the effort of not killing the man next to him.

  We both know it wasn’t obsidian. But it doesn’t matter. “Can you get my memories back or not?”