Heart of the Volcano

by Imogen Howson

  Helpless to stop or control it, she heard her voice go back to a whisper. “What are you? A—a stone-shifter, a—”

  “Gargoyle.” He spread his arms a little, looked down at himself. “Or so they said when they came for me. Stone-shifters don’t have wings. So they said.” Contempt and anger flashed through his voice.

  Gargoyle. An ugly-sounding word. She had heard it before, she realized now, but hadn’t known exactly what it was, and had taken little notice. No one expected her to know the many horrible permutations of the unholy gifts. It was not her task to find them or identify them, only to destroy—

  She stuck on that last thought, her mind stuttering over the word. Destroy. Coram had never asked for this, would never have deliberately gone against the god’s will. And he…this thing he was—it wasn’t horrible. But all the same, she must—

  She couldn’t think it, not yet. In a minute she would face the thought, the reality of what she must do. Not yet. Not yet.

  Above her, his wings bent, drew downwards to fold onto his back. The stony rustle grated on her ears and echoed around the walls of the labyrinth eye. The grey colour receded from his skin, and his body changed, shrinking, redefining its shape. He stood wholly human before her.

  “You can stop staring now.”

  She looked away, embarrassed. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for staring? Or sorry you’re going to kill me?”

  The words stung. She flinched, not looking at him. “For staring…”

  “Oh, don’t worry.” His voice was as hard as if it still came from the stone lips. “I know very well how appalling I am—an abomination to gods and men. I hardly expect you not to be revolted.”

  I’m not revolted. She swallowed. I’m not revolted, and I should be. Even if I’ve not seen an unholy gift before, I’ve been a priestess for five years, I’m one with the god’s power, I’m supposed to be one with his mind. I should see this as the abomination it is.

  “Go on.”

  She jerked her head up to look at him. “What?”

  “Go on. You’ve seen the justification. Do what you came here for.”

  “You mean…”

  “Kill me. Do what your god tells you. Fulfill your destiny.”

  “But I—”

  “Aera. I thought I’d be able to fight you, beat you. But your power—it’s far and beyond mine—I have no chance. I—” He bent his head so she could not see his face. “You said you came in mercy. I am afraid. Don’t make me wait.”

  He was right. She had to do this, and waiting was nothing but cruelty. But I—I’m not decided. I can’t face this yet!

  It made no difference. He’d asked her for mercy, and she must give it to him.

  She forced her thoughts to stillness, breathed in the dusty metallic air, letting it turn to heat in her chest, letting the god’s power rise. She saw Coram through a haze, the lava heating the air around her so it shimmered and wavered, making what she was about to do seem distant, unreal. If I can withdraw into the trance I need not face what I’m doing, I need not think it.

  But afterwards! What about afterwards, when you must live knowing you killed him?

  No. No. I won’t think about that now.

  She was fully shifted now, all smoking heat, her mind going into a merciful blur. She walked towards him, hands out, preparing to give him the mercy he’d begged of her—

  Something slashed across her face, then stuck in the lava on her cheekbone, sizzling as it melted, sparking in a storm of tiny white-hot specks all around her. Her almost-trance flashed back into full awareness. He’d hit her. With one of the broken chains, with all the force of that heavily muscled arm. He’d hit her.

  The other chain came slashing against her shoulder, knocking her sideways. She crashed onto the floor, felt the impact strike through her, muted by this more powerful form but still enough of a shock to make the world shake out of focus.

  Another chain, coming down towards her. And the vast bulk of Coram, shifted back to living rock, using his gargoyle form to guard as best he could against her molten, lethal body. Aera, you fool. She’d thought he was submitting to fate, submitting to her, accepting the mercy of the god. But all he’d been doing was tricking her—again!—tricking her into coming close enough that he could use her shifted body to melt through the rest of his chains.

  I was pitying you! She surged to her feet, fire spitting from the swirl of her blazing hair. The heat ran through every vein, every nerve, up into her brain. Around her the world went red. She was no longer fighting Coram, the childhood friend she’d missed and mourned, but a monster, a devil, something given wholly over to uncleanness, something that must be purified.

  She thrust her hands out, touched stone and felt it yield beneath her fingers, felt her anger—righteous anger, like the god would feel—run into it, heating it, making it clean—

  Coram screamed.

  The sound went through her. She froze, hands outstretched, blinded by the red haze in front of her eyes. She’d heard screams before. She’d heard the screams of the sacrifices as they plummeted towards the volcano’s lake of fire, the screams of the maenads hunting runaways out over the desert sands. Before she’d learned to get used to them, they’d chilled her, made her shiver, made her weep. She’d heard screams of pain, too, had listened, helpless, when, in her second year at the temple, one of the fire-maidens lost control of her gift—the ability to summon fire from the air—set her hair alight and burned to death before anyone could run for help. But never before had she been the cause of the screams.

  She couldn’t see. She could hardly think. She didn’t know what she’d done to him, how badly she’d hurt him, whether she’d even left him alive. And she couldn’t clear her vision enough to see. The scream reverberated in her head, and words reverberated too: A clean death. A good death. A death of honour and mercy and justice…

  It wasn’t. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t merciful. Not when it sounded like that.

  The heat fell away, clearing her eyes and head. Coram lay a few feet from her, part-shifted through the length of his body, half of him untouched stone and half of him pale flesh, clammy with the sweat of shock. His arm, the stone arm, was smoking; she could see where her hand had left its imprint. A smooth, clear imprint, like those on the entrance pillars.

  That’s what I wanted. To make my mark. To show my power over stone. But not like this. Not when the stone is also flesh. Not when it’s human. Not when it’s him.

  “Coram.”

  He didn’t move.

  She took a step, and found herself swaying, unsteady. Shifting so fast, so much, three times in less than an hour, was dangerous, used up too much energy. She’d recover, given enough time, but—

  But it doesn’t matter. I’ve hurt him. I might have—

  She couldn’t bear to think it. She went down on her knees next to him. “Coram?”

  His eyelids flickered. His lips parted slightly, the next breath hissing between his teeth.

  “Coram, I’ve hurt you. I—”

  “I noticed.” The words came out through clenched teeth, and his jaw tightened until tendons stood out on the side that was still flesh. “If you meant to kill me, you’re—supremely inefficient. Aren’t you—” he broke off to wheeze in another breath, “—going to finish it off?”

  “No.” Her throat closed up again. “No. Oh Coram, I didn’t mean—”

  He gave what could have been a laugh, if it hadn’t sounded like a grunt of pain. “Half of me never thought you’d really do it. The Aera I knew—”

  “I’m not that Aera any more.” Her mouth trembled on the words and she set her teeth in her lower lip, forcing it to steady. “Coram, I don’t know what to do. I—you’re burned—”

  Her gaze went to the water-pot they’d left—out of his reach, of course; it was not for his comfort, but for hers during the night to come. If she flung water on the burn mark now what would it do? Ease the pain or shatter the heat-weakened stone? Wha
t would that do to him? I can’t hurt him again!

  “It’s all right. A minute—” He bit off the sentence, another wave of sweat breaking out over his face and chest. She waited, nails digging into her palms, heart thudding accusations through her blood, up into her brain. Failed. Failed in every way. I’ve done something terrible. Betrayed the god. Killed my best friend. Whichever way I look at it, I’ve done something terrible.

  Coram’s body seemed to tighten. For a horrible, breath-stopping, strung-out fraction of a second, she saw the flesh pull at the edge of the stone and thought he was going to tear himself in two. Instead he shuddered, the movement going through his whole body, both flesh and stone, and as the shudder ebbed the stone ebbed with it, leaving him wholly human. The smoking patch on his arm had become no more than a scorched, hairless burn-mark, shiny red but already looking as if it was beginning to heal.

  She let out a gasp, every joint loosening with relief. “I—oh, I thought—”

  He used that arm to push himself to a sitting position. “If you’d touched me in this—in my human—form, you’d have been right to think. Even with the stone, if you’d held on much longer…”

  She swallowed. “I—Coram, I was going to. I meant to kill you. But I—when you screamed I—” She was still kneeling, and now he’d sat up their eyes, for the first time, were on a level. His seemed to wait, dark and, despite everything, very calm. “It would have been murder,” she said. “That’s what you said it was. And it is, isn’t it? It’s—what I’m vowed to do—it’s murder.”

  “It’s only taken you five years to realize, then?”

  “And when did you realize?” she snapped at him. “Only when you became the victim?”

  He raised an eyebrow. It was the merest flicker of movement, but for years she’d known his expressions better than her own, and she recognized it. It was capitulation.

  “I didn’t think it would ever be me,” he said. “I—despite what I saw, despite how we both grew up—I thought the unholy gifts would only ever come to those who’d opened themselves to evil, done something to bring it on themselves. So I—” his gaze fell from hers, “—I always thought, like you, that their execution was justice, mercy. But when it was me, when it happened to me and it was my turn to face that mercy…” He looked up at her again, a dark flash of defiance…and hidden within it, fear? “I swear, Aera, I’m clean. There’s nothing. No hidden, unconfessed sin. Nothing. I didn’t ask for this. I did nothing to make this happen.”

  “I know.” Her hands went out to him, an involuntary movement before she snatched them back. You nearly killed him! Do you think he wants you to come anywhere near? “Coram, I know. Is that not the first thing I said to you, that you could not be—that it must be a mistake?”

  “But that was before. Before you saw me shift.”

  She stared at him. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Aera.” His voice was heavy with patience. “I know you’re—this is a shock, I know—but do me the courtesy of not lying to me, yes?”

  “I’m not lying to you!”

  “Aera, you tried to kill me.”

  “You told me to!” Indignation made her voice shrill. “You asked me to kill you. You tricked me. You said you were afraid!”

  “And that was why?” Now it wasn’t patience that weighted the words, but disbelief.

  “Yes. I tried to tell you I didn’t want to, I was trying to—to make my thoughts make sense, but you wouldn’t give me time, you wouldn’t listen.” She leaned forward, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You asked me for mercy. To kill you quickly, to not make you wait. That’s the one request I can never refuse. It’s—that’s what I’m for. That’s why the god made me.”

  “Mercy, was it? All the way through?”

  “I—” She looked away. “When you tricked me, attacked me—that wasn’t mercy. But I was already half in the trance, and you’d tricked me. I lost my temper.”

  “That’s all?”

  Laughter crept into his voice. She threw a quick glance up at him, and he was smiling—no, grinning—in genuine amusement.

  “What?” Here she was, caught between blasphemy and murder, and he was laughing at her.

  “Well.” His grin spread. “If I’d known I would not have tricked you.”

  “I tried to tell you—”

  “I know.” He shook his head, wincing a little when the motion jolted his arm. “You always were an odd little thing, Rae.”

  The childhood name, the name only he had used, seemed to scorch her, and she shrank, trying not to let her face change. Too many memories, memories so precious she’d forced herself to forget them, memories it hurt too much to remember.

  He didn’t notice. She’d schooled herself, not just these last five years but before, when the other children had mocked her, not to show emotion. Anyway—she remembered this now, too—he’d never been much good at noticing how she felt. She’d always had to insist he listen, tell him she was upset, or angry. And those things she hadn’t told him, he’d never known.

  “So,” he said now, “before you lost your temper, then, you weren’t planning to kill me. Even when you saw me shift—”

  “Not ‘even when’.”

  He frowned. “Oh, come. I know very well what it looks like—I know it’s an abomination—”

  “No.” She flung her hands out, exasperated. “Coram, my gift kills people! Who am I to call yours an abomination?”

  “I…” He met her eyes briefly, and all at once she saw him as he’d been at thirteen, when he’d grown suddenly, ridiculously, a head and a half taller than anyone else their age, when his compact grace had become a clumsiness that meant he couldn’t walk ten paces without tripping over his own, newly huge feet. When he’d got so self-conscious he could scarcely talk, when she had only to look at him to see the plea for reassurance in the little-boy eyes in his suddenly adult face.

  Her hand made another move towards him, but she caught it back before he would notice. “It’s not an abomination,” she said. “It’s…Coram, have you not thought? Your gift, it’s like mine.”

  He said nothing, but after a moment he reached out and took her hand. His was work-roughened, gritty with lava-dust, a little slippery with sweat—and she felt the touch through every nerve in her body.

  And she, who just minutes ago had glared straight into his eyes, all at once she could not hold his gaze, all at once she had to look away.

  “I was planning to escape.” Although the words made sense, for a moment she couldn’t hear them, because his voice seemed to follow his touch, vibrating into all her nerve endings. “Aera, come with me.”

  That she did hear, and stared at him. It shouldn’t be a shock. What else did she think he’d been doing, freeing himself from his chains? But somehow she’d never imagined anyone—whether designated sacrifice, priestess or condemned criminal—stepping out of the god’s will, taking their life for themselves.

  “Aera.”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry, I— Escape? How can you—”

  “I can fly, remember.” He changed position, coming up to kneeling and taking his hand from hers, leaving her palm cold, then he opened his arms, the movement recalling the spread of those huge wings. Of course he could fly. A picture came, taking her breath, of his wings opening to catch the air, of the bulk of his stone body graceful in flight, darkly silhouetted against the blue blaze of the sky.

  He dropped his hands back to rest on his knees. “The cage opens at dawn, doesn’t it? It’s only the chains. Melt them, and we can escape together.”

  The picture changed, narrowed. She saw herself in his arms, imagined feeling the beat of his heart against her cheek, and the labyrinth, the temple, the whole world falling away beneath them…

  “I’ve heard talk,” he said. “Other condemned criminals—sometimes they get away—”

  A shiver caught her. “I know. Into the maenads’ hands.”

  “Not always. Sometimes they get away, go north
. Rumours come back, with traders. There’s other cities, other people—different gods. Places where people have gifts—all different gifts—and they’re not condemned, not hunted. I could go there. Find a new life.” With one hand he picked up the chain that tethered his feet to the coldsteel dome. “Aera. Melt it for me.”

  Melt it for me…

  …I am afraid. Don’t make me wait… That had sounded convincing, too, and she’d believed him, but it had been a trick. Now this—was this just part of the same thing? Was he asking her to come with him, asking her to betray the god, just to get himself free? Did he really mean to take her, too? Or as long as he could spread those wings and escape, would he care that he left her behind to face the priests and the god she’d betrayed?

  Come morning, when they let the lava in, she would survive, at least. If he was still trapped he would die. And she…if she could prevent it and didn’t, that would be murder, too, as surely as if she’d burned him to death herself.

  I cannot bear it. I cannot bear him to die. Even if he’s only using me—again—to save himself, is he not justified? And even if he’s not…I cannot bear him to die.

  “Very well,” she said, her voice tight. She put her hand over the chain.

  Summoning the heat was harder this time. It came in a shiver, but a shiver of nausea, a skin-prickling wave of sickness rising over her body and into her throat. She gritted her teeth, holding onto the heat, making it build, concentrating it into just her hand where it touched the chain.

  Her hand flamed, and under her fingers the chain links trickled into a puddle, a metallic shimmer on the ground.

  Her head spun, her vision blurring—but with fatigue, not with the euphoria of the trance. She would lose her hold on it in a moment; the shift would leave her. Or it would flare out of control, taking over her body, burn through and through her until there was nothing left. But she must do this. She must save him, and after that… The blurriness moved backwards, into her head. What did it matter? She was foresworn now, a blasphemer herself, what did any of it matter?

  Saving Coram. She clenched her teeth on her lip, moved her hand onto the last chain and felt it dissolve at her touch. The blurriness swam up through her mind. It made it red, then black shot with red, then nothing at all…