by Ronie Kendig
“If you are caught, they will kill you.”
Who was Kaelyria talking to? The accelerant?
White-hot agony ripped through him like a spear piercing his heart. He screamed, felt himself fall as the heat exploded across his chest. His ears shrieked beneath the torment.
“Gwogh,” he managed, reaching out, unable to see, searching for the guardian who’d been his right hand. Who had tutored him. Challenged him. Been his friend. Ally. Champion. He felt the man’s presence and groped for him.
Wait. He thought he was reaching. Even in his dreams, he believed he could run, swim, ride. A fool’s fancy. He couldn’t feel anything. He’d been crippled a decade past.
Something caught his hand.
No. Can’t be. I can’t feel.
“You foolish girl!” Gwogh hissed. “What have you done?”
“It had to be done,” came Kaelyria’s unnaturally calm voice.
“No!” Gwogh growled. “No. Not like this. Blessed Abiassa, have mercy on him,” came Gwogh’s soft whisper against Haegan’s ears. “The Fire King will singe you alive for this!”
Worse terrors plucked at Haegan’s courage. “Why can’t I see?” He struggled to control the panic. He’d gone years without the use of his body—now his eyes, too? “I’ve angered Her, Gwogh.”
“Foolspeech, my prince. Just . . . be at peace. It’ll come . . .”
“Are those tears I hear in your words, old friend?” Pushing aside his panic, he tried to calm himself. Then like a light, the aged guardian loomed over him. Sweet relief swept through him. “By the Flames!” He laughed. “I thought I was blind, too.” An annoying sensation in his legs—how could that be?—drew his attention away from his gray-bearded guardian. He shifted. Felt a thump. Heard a crash.
A girl cried out.
Haegan looked down . . . his legs . . . Those weren’t his legs. His were atrophied, grossly thin and pale. Embarrassing. Humiliating. These were strong, muscular legs.
The gray slate felt like ice beneath him. “The floor,” he muttered and glanced around. “I’m on the floor. Why am I on the cold floor?”
Gwogh sucked in a breath. “You can feel it? The cold?”
Haegan stilled. Let his gaze drop back to the legs. To the slate. Saw a hand moving toward the strong limbs. My hand! A noise, strange and guttural, wormed through his chest. Laughter! “I can,” he said with a laugh. “I can feel. And move!”
With gentleness that had defined his guardian, Gwogh slid away from Haegan, watching with a strange expression.
Every fiber of Haegan’s being erupted. Tingling. Fire zipping from the top of his head to his toes. Feeling! It was feeling. Another bubble of laughter escaped as he again met his guardian’s somber expression. “What ails you, Sir Gwogh? You look as if you’ve seen a ghoul.”
“I fear I have.”
Haegan drew his feet in, exhilarated when they responded. He reached for the windowsill—how did I get off the bed?—and drew himself up. Rising, he reeled as the world loomed into view. He drew in a steadying breath and let it out, a light fog clouding the leaded glass. He smiled that he could move—view the world at his leisure or pleasure. Disbelief spiraled through him. He shook his head. Madness!
I am whole. Tears stung his eyes. How many nights and days had he begged Abiassa to let him walk again? And now . . . it’d happened.
Haegan pulled his attention back to himself, to the limbs that had not worked, that could not even hold a goblet. Legs that certainly could not push him to his feet. Balling his fists, he felt the strength. Watched the tendons and muscles contract. Incredible!
Bouncing on his toes, he laughed. Glorious! “You spoke truth, sister. I am free!” A presence beside him made Haegan turn his head from admiring his hands.
Gwogh. Concern etched the gray eyes, as it had not done in a very long time. Since the day he fell to the poison. And in that second, Haegan had a wretched, awful feeling. This is wrong. Yet he could not let it go. Did not want to let it go.
It was wrong. This should not have happened. But all he could say was, “You’re short.”
“I’m afraid you’ve outgrown me, my lord prince.”
Something in Haegan scrambled for reassurance, for Gwogh to say this wasn’t wrong. That it was okay to be free. It was okay to walk and be normal. Strong. But his guardian merely stared. And for a second, that angered Haegan. Could the man not have one spark of joy for him?
The graybeard shook his head. “This should not have been done. Forgive me for saying so, my lord prince, but it should not.” He turned and left the room, shoulders stooped. With more than age.
The urge to go after him pushed Haegan two steps forward. “Gwogh, wait!” He stopped, his mind whirling and unused to the movement. A gurgle of laughter trickled through him—Walking! I’m walking!
“It will take some time to get your land legs,” Cilicien said with an amused laugh.
Haegan looked at the Ignatieri high marshal, then at his bed. Blanket and sheets clumped to the side—wait. No. Not sheets and blanket—a shape lay there.
Cilicien moved closer to Haegan.
Blocking my view.
“What will you do first, my lord prince?” The accelerant shifted again, pointed to the windows. “The lands of Zaethien and Luxlirien are plentiful with beautiful maidens, and since you have your youthful vigor back . . .”
Anger rose. Did he think Haegan so callow? So ignorant of his devices? Haegan swept aside the accelerant, dreading to know what the conniving marshal was hiding, and pushed forward. He stopped, the world tilting at what he saw—Kaelyria. Laid out on the very bed he had occupied for too many years. The bed that had held him, cocooned him, imprisoned him, now did the same to his sister.
Breath would not fill his lungs. He stood, mute. Fool! “Kaelyria!” Haegan lunged. “Kaelyria!”
She did not move, even as a tear traced her perfect face.
“What happened?” He spun toward the accelerant. “What did you do to her?”
“Haegan.” A whisper, faint and haunting, reached for him. Clutched him by the throat. “Forgive me, my brother.” More tears as her delicate blond brows knitted. “It was the only way.”
Revelation struck him as he stared at his sister. “You knew . . . you knew this would happen.” He groped for understanding that would not come and dropped against the mattress. “Why? Why in blazes would you do this?”
“It’s the Year of the Feasts.”
“Every hundredth year,” he said. “But, Kae, the Kindling—’tis a fancy, not reality.”
Kae drew in a shuddering breath and a smile wavered across her lips, her blue eyes locked on him. “No, ‘tis real. True. I’ve read accounts of those who’ve been healed there. A long time ago, I asked Father to take you when the Kindling came . . .” She faltered, then went on, “He, too, said it was fancy.”
Her eyes sparkled. “But I’m convinced this is your chance to be whole. This transference will last but one month, long enough for you to reach the Falls.” She blinked away tears that pooled in her eyes. “You can walk beneath the waters and be healed.”
“Then . . . then you’ll be released?” He scanned her body, hoping to see her leg move. Fingers lift.
“Yes,” she breathed. “But if you don’t get to the Falls, you will be imprisoned again.”
“This is madness! And supposition—there is no way to know if it is true.” Desperation strangled his words. He shook his head, fighting tears he’d given up on long ago. “My stupid big sister,” he said with all the grief and love a brother could possess. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Why . . .? This is—I don’t want this. You have the abiatasso. Our people need you.”
A rustle of fabric preceded Gwogh’s return.
Kae’s eyes flicked in his direction. “You must leave, Haegan. I think your guardian has realized that as well.”
“I cannot leave you! Not like this.” Haegan felt the tears. The strangle in his chest. Thrumming in his arms.
&
nbsp; “If you stay, this is all for nothing.” Kaelyria’s eyes sought the guardian. “Get him to safety. When they learn what has happened, the Jujak will act swiftly. Hurry!”
“Come, my prince. She’s right.” Hands clapped onto his shoulders. “The queen and king will not be forgiving. They would see you thrown into the Lakes, for the truth of it.”
“No. If I’m dead, she gets her legs back, right? This is my fault. I’ll stay.” He’d lived his life in this room, in this tower, watching the heavens. If he stayed, he’d die, true. But he would not abandon Kaelyria. She had not abandoned him when he’d lost his life to poisoning. “If they burn me—”
Shouts spiraled up from the courtyard outside. He could hear armor clanking. His heart skipped a beat. He’d not seen their father-king in years. A yearning burst within him to have his father laugh, clap him on the shoulder. Just once more. Treat him as the son he was born to be. But now . . . now that would never happen. Even if he weren’t off campaigning, Father would see Kaelyria.
And kill me for what has happened here.
Fear crested his grief.
“You have one month. Only one,” she said. “I watched you lie here for years. Think you I am not strong enough to take your yoke for one month? This was my choice, Haegan.”
He wavered.
“If you go now, you can make it.”
“No!” He could not let this happen.
“Do not waste this gift I have given you,” Kaelyria ground out. “Go, brother!” Another tear escaped and slipped into the thick blond hair that formed a halo around her head. “Save Fieri Keep.”
Before he could respond, a resounding thud echoed through his brain. His teeth clattered. His vision ghosted and went dark.
3
Darkness pervaded. Haegan blinked, digging himself out from the beneath the torment of pain and blindness. His mind scrambled for placement, clarity. For purchase against a torrent of dreams. Blazes! Not dreams—Nightmares! Only as the drums of a pounding headache assaulted him did he realize . . . ‘Tis no nightmare.
‘Twas far worse: reality. “No,” he croaked out.
As he tried to lift his cheek from the dirt he lay in, his head protested with a shrill ringing. He slumped back down. Someone must have clobbered him and removed him from the palace. With the darkness and the smells, he could not gain his bearings.
Shadows lightened as he blinked again. Just an inch from his nose, something moved. Startled him. Then he saw—fingers. My fingers! Scratching in the dirt¸ Haegan processed the fact that he had full control of his digits.
Grief wrapped its powerful talons around his heart and squeezed. Why would she do this? He could not wipe away the image of Kaelyria lying there, perfect. But perfectly crippled. “No!” He curled into himself, rage and grief warring.
He beat a fist against the dirt.
Shouts erupted.
Haegan lifted his head. Looked around. Darkness, shadows, stench, and dampness. Where am I?
Pounding footsteps jerked him up, and he winced at the pain. He scrabbled backward as several shapes burst from the shadows—straight toward him. His back thudded against something hard. His fingers traced the wooden barrier.
The first of the crowd bolted past, leaving a trail of stench.
Two more rushed onward. One wedged between the other and the wall. Too close! No gap—the one wearing a cap would trample him. Haegan drew in his legs, arms.
Thud!
They collided. The boy toppled over him. Feet. Legs. Screams. Confusion addled his mind as he fought to untangle himself. He struggled against the person, against the assault on his senses. Trapped. He felt trapped. And crowded. And weird—all these feelings rushing over him like a squall.
“Let go!” the kid shouted. Kicked. Slapped. Punched.
Knuckles collided with his eye.
“Augh!” Haegan struck out with his own punch, but stopped short, realizing the futility of the move. “I am not your enemy. Stop.”
Hands pawed at them both as one of the others returned. Hot, rank breath skated along Haegan’s cheek. “Up! C’mon, Thiel.”
Darkness prevented Haegan from seeing straight. Tangles of arms and legs drew him up. Pushed him into the darkness of another tunnel.
“No, wait.”
“Shut yer trap,” the youth ordered, shoving him. “Want them to find us?”
Yes. Wait—the guards. No. He did not want to be found. Not till he could sort out what happened, how to fix this mess and restore Kaelyria.
They propelled him onward. Maybe it was just as well. He wasn’t even sure where he was right now.
Light bloomed in the confined darkness, torches drawing closer.
“Go!”
Arrows thunked into the wood behind him. Haegan started. Jujak! His father’s royal guards!
He flipped around and bolted, mind afire with the very thought that he could run. He hadn’t done that since he was eight, chasing Kaelyria across the plains to the Lakes of Fire and down the forbidden passages. He’d chased her laughter more than her. And now . . . now she might never run again if he didn’t escape and get to the Falls.
No! Don’t think of her.
One month. That was all he had. There was no going back, so he just had to muster on. Get to the Falls, get healed, and return. This gift his sister had—stupidly, foolishly—given him would not be wasted. He would not dishonor her. He would fix this. She’d walk again. And rule Seultrie and Fieri Keep.
What if she didn’t? What if he failed? The thought made him want to cry out again.
You’re Prince of Zaethien, son of the Fire King. It mattered not that he’d never sit upon that gilded throne or harness the Flames. He had all the pride necessary to have been sired by the Fire King.
Running, he marveled at how long it took his legs to exhaust. It was as if those ten bedridden years had never been. Palming the slick, mossy stone wall for guidance, he hurried on through the blinding darkness, his mind on its own frantic rampage.
The wall curved out, away from Zaethien. Darkness lightened the tunnel fifty paces ahead. There the others vanished around another corner. His breath hitched. Having lived inside the walls, he did not know these routes. What if he got lost?
Haegan almost laughed. Lost would be the least of his problems if thrust before his father’s Jujak. He’d gained his strength, use of his body, but he’d lose everything else.
“No! Don’t slow,” came a panting voice from behind. A slight figure brushed past him. “They won’t.”
He looked back. Torches bobbed and armor clanked as the guards ran. “Seal the gates,” a guard shouted.
Haegan glanced at the boy. Grubby pants, a large tunic and vest marked the one who’d punched him, he was sure.
Stay and face the guards. Nobody would believe he was the prince. At least, not at first. But it wouldn’t be long before the truth was discovered. His father would formally denounce him as he pitched him into the Lakes of Fire. They would not believe Kae had done this of her own will. What Seultrie lost . . .
Feet slapped the earth.
Haegan’s head jerked up.
The boy had returned. Clutched Haegan’s jerkin. Yanked. “Move!”
They broke into a run, the boy pulling him on when his feet tangled in unfamiliar motion. Is this right? If these street urchins were found with him and arrested, they would be killed, too. He could not be responsible for more lives. For more loss.
Though shorter than Haegan by a head, the kid was strong, tugging him onward. Toward the light. Toward freedom. “There!” He yanked again.
Haegan tripped. But kept going, his mind alive with conflicting messages. Warm stone. Fire in his shoulder. His gut—something felt strange there. After years of paralysis, now he struggled to orient his mind to what was happening in his body. He hit the boy. They slammed into a wall, Haegan tripping on top of him.
The boy rolled in his grasp. “Stupid!”
Haegan grabbed shoulders. Turned. Pushed him towar
d the opening not more than fifteen paces away. “Go,” he said. Why wouldn’t the boy go?
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m not. I’m fine.” Haegan urged him toward the end of the tunnel.
The kid jerked back, but Haegan was already pushing, forcing him to keep moving. “Go!”
More arrows thwapped into the wood beams. Seared along his arm. Haegan howled against the pain that exploded in his shoulder. He jerked toward the guards, angry. Why would they hound youth in tunnels?
They’re looking for me.
Why, Kaelyria? Why did you do this?
The boy’s eyes were wide. He’d frozen.
“Go,” Haegan growled at the boy.
“You’re . . . you’re . . . the arrow hit you.”
As if he needed to be told. He felt the warmth sliding down his shoulder and arm. Felt the blazing pain. But that didn’t help. “Go!” He shoved the boy. Jerked toward the guards. He didn’t know what he’d do. How he would stop a half dozen of his father’s elite. But he would. With lies. With tricks. Whatever it took. Then he’d have to explain to his father.
Right. When had he ever talked to his father in the last several years?
Rejected. Forgotten.
“Halt! By order of the Fire King!”
And now he was no less alone, abandoned even by Gwogh, unable to reach his sister. Why? Why couldn’t Kae have left him to his books? Why couldn’t the guards just let him go? He was no one. Had no friends. No power. Nothing.
Pain tugged at his shoulder.
Why must they all force him to do something he did not want to do? Why?
Anger pulsed through Haegan. Breathing . . . hard . . . Just once, for even a moment, he wanted control of his life. Of what happened to him. Something hot flared through him. As if fire ate at his chest. Or an arrow had pierced a lung.
How dare the Jujak try to kill me? Before I can reach the Falls, before I can return to save Kaelyria? Before my father could even be consulted?
But then . . . he would not put it past his father-king to condone their actions. Anger tumbled into rage. If he failed, if these guards stopped him—
Rage blew into fury. Kae would live his lot for the rest of her life. She didn’t deserve that. Beauty, grace, purity . . .
