Facing the Fire

by Carol Beth Anderson

  “If that were the case, you would’ve already said enough to get yourself in trouble.”

  Looking up, Kogar said, “Guess that’s true.” He cut some twine and set to tying up the roast. When he’d finished, he set it next to the other one. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to know we can depend on you when we need you. We’ll send you a message or visit you when the time comes.”

  Kogar folded his arms. “You’re standing here talking to me, looking at my face. Why can’t I know what you look like?”

  Tullen unwrapped his scarf so Kogar could see his mouth and surrounding beard. He held his arms out. “My name is Tullen, and the king wants to capture me. Probably wants to kill me. Now you know.”

  The butcher uncrossed his arms and held out a hand after wiping it on his apron. Tullen took it, wincing at the man’s grip. “Tullen,” Kogar said. “You let me know what you need, and I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tullen wrapped the scarf back around his face. As he opened the door, Kogar’s voice rose, taking on the cheerful, booming tone he’d had before. “You got your food, now life is good! I made a sale, it’s time for ale!”

  Tullen arrived back at the midwife house and went straight to the second-floor common room. “Sorry I’m late,” he said to the assembled bunch. “There are a bunch of safety officers on the street. I sneaked around to the back and hopped the fence.”

  “Did you visit the butcher?”

  The question had come from a fourteen-year-old boy with a scent gift. He was one of four Savalan young people in the room who all received magical training at the midwife house. Every weekday, ever since Remina Birge’s flyer had been distributed, they’d stayed late after their training to meet with the Golds.

  Tullen smiled. “I did.” He updated everyone on the successful visit.

  “That’s one more person on our list,” Tavi said with a grin. She pulled out a notebook, asked the young student for the butcher’s full name, and wrote it in.

  Their “Resister List” was short, but it was growing. All the credit went to the four Savalan students, whom Wrey had dubbed the Gold apprentices. Benisa had been the one to suggest the Golds approach these four, each of whom had come to her with concerns about the new regime. The young Blessed were enthusiastic about joining an organized resistance, and because they were local, they’d been able to tell the Golds of other Savalans with rebellious tendencies. Like the crazy butcher.

  This was just one part of the plan they’d formed after Birge’s flyers had gone up. The morning after they read Birge’s message, Tavi had declared it was time to take real action. They’d started meeting with the Gold apprentices and forming their resister list, and Tavi and Tullen had begun listening to even more conversations at the palace, with Ven’s help. After several hours of listening over the course of two days, their hearing gifts suddenly became ineffective.

  They hadn’t been stopped by resistance; rather, it seemed there was no sound whatsoever in the palace. They couldn’t figure out why. They wished more than ever that Evitt was in town to spy on the palace in person. But his mother said he’d run away months earlier, and she feared him dead.

  Stymied in their effort to listen, they focused on two things: connecting with resisters and bringing Zakkur onto their team. Sall had approached the guard twice since Birge’s arrest. Zakkur was even warier than he’d been before. He’d gained Konner’s trust by turning in Birge, and he was terrified he’d lose it. But Tavi and Tullen had continued to listen for him every night at ten, hoping one day he’d join them.

  “Can we do some magical practice?” one of the female students asked. “The Meadow way?”

  Tullen laughed. “I think we should. Let’s go outside. It’s sunny and warm. Well, not warm, but less cold, anyway.”

  There were a few groans, but everyone stood and descended the stairs. Once they were all in the snowy back yard, Tullen stood back and watched as Golds and Savalans alike played with their magic. One of the female students had a touch gift that made her very strong. She approached both Ash and Ven to ask for their help, and to Tullen’s surprise, they both agreed.

  Over the next two minutes, Ven helped Ash make the largest snowball Tullen had ever seen. It was taller than he was. Ven moved his glowing hand to the touch-blessed girl, who picked up the ball and threw it in the air. It soared up at least thirty feet, and as it fell straight back down, everyone scattered. The massive sphere hit the ground, pulverizing on contact and showering them with bits of snow. Neighbors must have wondered why there were sudden screams and peals of laughter in the yard of the midwife house.

  Next, Tullen watched as Tavi and the scent-blessed boy closed their eyes and tried to identify a line of volunteers, just by using their glowing noses. They were both remarkably accurate. After a couple of minutes, Tullen tiptoed to the back of the line. When it was his turn, Tavi and the boy breathed in deeply. Both their hands shot in the air.

  Sall, who was acting as referee, said, “You raised your hands at the same time. What’s the rule for that?”

  “How about I’ll plug my ears, and he can guess, and then we’ll swap?” Tavi said. “If we both get it right, we’ll call this round a tie.”

  “As long as you don’t use your hearing gift!” the boy said.

  Tavi laughed and removed her hat, dropping it in the snow. Sall confirmed her ears weren’t glowing. She plugged them with her fingers, and Sall told the boy he could guess.

  “I smell raw meat,” the boy whispered. “It’s Tullen.”

  “Correct,” Sall said. When the boy had plugged his ears, Sall tapped Tavi. She took her fingers off her ears. “Your turn,” he said.

  Tavi grinned. “Clearly Tullen.” As she’d done with other rounds, she took another deep breath and began to describe exactly what she smelled. “Meat from the butcher. Bread dough from your baking this morning. Sweat on that wool hat that you only wash once a month.” Her face fell, and she opened her eyes. They were shining with tears. “The forest in Oren,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “How is it your shirt still smells like the forest in Oren?”

  Her eyes locked onto his, and memories flashed through his mind. Talking to her for the first time, as she tried to hide her fear of the stranger telling her not to drink from a spring. Convincing her to try antlerfruit. Hugging her as she cried and kissing her as she laughed. Practicing magic together. And gripping her tightly as Misty’s throat was slashed. He blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “What are you all doing out here?”

  The spell was broken. Tullen wiped his cheek and turned around. From the doorway, Benisa called, “Come inside; it’s cold! And I need to show you something. In the dining room, all of you.”

  Tullen rushed to the door, avoiding Tavi’s gaze. Inside, they all gathered around the big table. “We received another flyer,” Benisa said, holding up a sheet of paper. “This one was delivered by safety officers.”

  “So that’s why there were so many of them on the street,” Tullen said.

  Just as he’d done two weeks before, Sall read the message aloud.

  ATTENTION, CITIZENS OF CORMINA:

  Our sun-blessed citizens are our greatest national resource. In order to honor this community and most wisely utilize their magic for the greater good, every gifted person in Savala and the surrounding areas must register with the government.

  If you are gifted or are the parent of a gifted child, register at the nearest office of safety within one week. Every Blessed will be given a leather bracelet to wear at all times. Anyone who fails to register will be arrested, including parents of unregistered children.

  Monetary rewards will be offered to those who provide information on unregistered Blessed after the deadline has passed.

  This spring, the registration effort will be put into effect throughout the country.

  Long live the Kingdom of Cormina.

  King Relin and Queen Camalyn


  Tullen felt like he was reliving the events of two weeks earlier. This time, Sall handed the page to Jenevy, and everyone crowded around her to read it for themselves. It was the first public statement the monarchs had made since the distribution of Remina Birge’s flyer.

  He wondered if the second flyer was a response to the first. Until now, Birge’s revelations hadn’t changed anything, unless you counted the constant gossip around the city. The Golds had been anxiously waiting and working, sure Birge’s words would have some sort of tremendous impact once they had time to sink in.

  “Why do they want us to register?” one of the female students asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Benisa said, “but this isn’t the first I’ve heard of them making a list.” She recounted how safety officers had visited the midwife house just days after Birge’s message, demanding information on magical students, past and present. “I told them the information they requested was confidential and sent them on their way,” she concluded.

  “Did they have weapons?” Wrey asked.

  “One of them did, but he never threatened me with it. I’ve spoken to midwives from other houses since then, and they tell similar stories. A couple of them promised to give the information, but they stall every time the officers return for it.”

  “Konner doesn’t like being told no.”

  Tullen looked up at Ash, surprised to hear him speak. His chair was pushed back from the table, and until this point, he’d sat silently. He’d gone to every meeting the Golds had held, with each other and with the students, in the past two weeks. But he’d rarely spoken. Something had shifted in him after reading Birge’s flyer, but he refused to tell anyone what he was thinking.

  No one responded to Ash, but they all watched him. He spoke again. “Konner uses manipulation as much as he can. When that stops working, he uses force. This threat is the beginning of that. You students sitting there, excited to be part of our little rebellion? Be prepared for soldiers to cart you and your parents off if you don’t register.”

  The boy who’d told them about the butcher began to cry.

  “Ash, I don’t think that was necessary,” Narre said.

  Ash laughed. “Narre, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t two of these students older than you? Isn’t that boy who’s crying the same age you were when . . . when you first encountered me and Konner? They’re old enough for the truth, and they deserve to know it.”

  “He’s right,” Tullen said. “We need to decide what to do about this order. Tavi, what do you think?”

  After a moment, Tavi responded, “We Golds can’t register; that much is obvious. But I think the students should. Karian midwives, too. This midwife house needs to appear to follow every rule so we don’t attract any attention. All the Blessed on our Resister List should register too.”

  After a few minutes of discussion, they all agreed with Tavi. The Gold apprentices left, and Tullen headed to the kitchen with a couple of other Golds to make dinner.

  He hated the thought of sun-blessed people having to register. It showed an utter disregard for privacy. But there was something else about this that bothered him. It wasn’t until he was in bed that night, struggling to sleep, that he pinpointed what it was.

  Every Blessed would wear a leather bracelet after registering. It would identify them as gifted. And if anyone used Remina Birge’s instructions to pursue a gray awakening, the bracelet would also identify every Blessed as a target.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I did not believe what you told me in your last letter! However, our neighbors returned from a trip to Savala and confirmed the news. I am unsure whether to be fascinated or disgusted. Of one thing I am certain: For once in my life, I am relieved not to be sun-blessed.

  - Mika Stag to Erti Stag, from Year One: Correspondence in the Corminian Kingdom

  Rayel Shalsin had feared she would oversleep, but she woke earlier than anyone else in her family, even before the sun. She took it as a sign from Sava and smiled as she tiptoed from her room. She longed for the day when she’d have her own place and could stomp around as loud as she wanted. If things went well today, surely she’d be able to afford it soon.

  In the little kitchen, she lit a candle. She slowly lifted the squeaky trapdoor to the ice cellar, propped it with her foot, grabbed a jug of cold milk, and took a swig. When she replaced the milk, her foot slipped, and the trapdoor swung shut, the sound echoing. Grabbing the last piece of stale bread from the countertop, she ran out the door, her father’s angry, groggy voice following her. She laughed as she ran.

  Half the streets hadn’t been shoveled since the snowfall three days earlier. Rayel shook her head, reflecting on the good old days (just a year ago) when even the minor streets in Savala were cleared within a day of a storm. She wasn’t sure what had changed, except that the new king and queen must somehow be the cause.

  When she reached the alley, she had to stop running. Too many slick patches. But it didn’t take long to walk to the rear of the tailor’s shop.

  The shop wouldn’t open for another hour or two, whenever Vasta came in. (He never wanted her to be a minute late, but his start time changed by the day. Hypocrite.) The locked doors weren’t a problem; one of the side windows didn’t latch. Vasta had asked her to fix it a dozen times, but she wasn’t a handyman; she was a tailor. Or an apprentice, anyway. A former apprentice, if you wanted to get technical about it.

  Rayel opened the window and tried to pull herself through it. But it was higher than she’d thought, or maybe she just wasn’t strong enough. She ran back to the dark alley and fumbled around until she found an old crate. It made a perfect stepstool. Soon she was in the shop, just a little scratched up. She unlocked the back door and put the crate back in the alley. Vasta probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but there was no sense taking such a chance.

  Back in the shop, she scooted a chair right next to the door that separated the back room from the front. She took off her gloves, placed them in the pocket of the coat she still wore, and waited.

  The sun rose, and Vasta didn’t come. Apparently it was one of his late days. She’d laugh if he came in smelling of alcohol; that was what he’d fired her for, but she could swear she’d smelled it on him once or twice.

  Bored and cold, Rayel held her hands up, wiggled her fingers, and watched as a golden glow filled them. She hugged herself, gripping her arms through her coat, and sighed when glorious heat seeped through her clothes. She moved her hands to her legs, then her belly, then her hips. When she was nice and warm, she held her hands up, watching as steam rose from them.

  It was a useful gift on cold days like today. It had been a good gift for a tailor’s apprentice too. She’d never had to heat heavy, dangerous irons on the stove. Instead, she pressed the clothes with her glowing hands. Vasta had been an idiot to fire her. Did he think he’d find someone else with such a gift? Doubtful. She shook her hands, releasing her magic in disgust.

  What else was she supposed to do besides work here? She’d been let go from the midwife house, where she’d told them she could warm up cold babies. But apparently Sava hadn’t liked that idea. She’d had resistance every time she’d tried it.

  A few other industries had given her a chance, but in most cases, real fire worked better than hot hands. None of them liked her, anyway; they always fired her before she had time to prove herself.

  Recently, she’d considered offering her services to the new king and queen. Surely they’d need someone who could convince prisoners to talk, and what would work better than a hot hand around a criminal’s . . .

  But that thought had fled as quickly as she’d had it; there was no way she’d get around resistance to torture people.

  And then a couple of weeks ago, that flyer had been stuck right there in her door, and Sava must’ve wanted her to see it, because she’d woken up early that day. Her father had still been sitting in the kitchen when she’d left for the tailor shop, so she was the one to find the beautiful, informative shee
t of paper. Halfway to work, a safety officer had snatched the paper from her, but it was too late. She’d read it by then. Five times.

  At work that day, she’d looked at Vasta differently. He had a stupid, useless gift: eyes that could see tiny differences in texture, variations no one else cared about. She’d started thinking thoughts she probably shouldn’t be having. She’d tried to stifle such musings, even drinking to distract herself.

  But an evening of drinking had turned into a whole night of drinking (why did that always happen to her?), and she’d come in late, knowing she smelled like a half-bad barrel of wine. Vasta had fired her on the spot. Before long, though, she really could see Sava’s hand all over this; even the firing had happened at the right time, when the contents of the flyer were fresh in her mind.

  Through the door she sat next to, she heard the unmistakable sound of the shop’s front door rattling as a key went in the lock. Rayel stood and waited. Her heart was beating faster than it ever had, but she didn’t know if it was from fear or excitement.

  More rattling. The old man was having trouble unlocking the door. His eyesight was failing; she was convinced of it. Really, she was doing him a favor, saving him from the shame of having to close up shop. Everyone would laugh at him, the sight-blessed tailor who’d gone blind. She’d save him from that.

  The latch clicked, and she heard the old man’s footsteps. Suddenly she was worried; would he even come to the back room? He might just stay in the front. But Sava was still with her; the door next to her swung open. Half a second later, Vasta appeared. Rayel flung herself at him, and he slammed into the wooden planks of the floor. She moved her knees to pin his arms, just like she’d done with the awful kids at her school when she was growing up.