Embers

by Ronie Kendig

  Stupefied, Haegan glanced back to the butcher, who had returned to his haggling. When he turned again, Haegan found himself alone.

  A cold feeling washed over him as he searched the crowded market for the accelerant. He checked the cobbled road to the other shops. Dozens of citizens, but no black-headed, scraggly accelerant-in-hiding.

  With a rush like ice water flooding his veins, Haegan pushed through the Hetaerans, glancing at faces as if rifling through a box of clothes. But as he slogged through the crowds, he grew disoriented, unable to see the sun for the buildings that huddled against his efforts. He stopped and once more searched for Drracien.

  A woman bumped into his back. “Watch where you’re going, love,” she muttered as she came around, adjusting the large sack of produce to the other hip.

  “I beg your mercy.” He took a step back. There came a sharp thud between his shoulder blades.

  “Oy! Beg off!” The gruff tone matched the foul breath of a burly man with a length of wood over his shoulder—the very length that had no doubt rammed into Haegan’s spine.

  “Mercy.” Haegan shifted to the side.

  A small girl shrieked as if he’d run her through. “Owww!”

  “Mercy,” he said touching her shoulder to reassure her.

  “Get your hands off my child!” A portly woman swung a lumpy sack of something at Haegan. It thudded against his arm.

  “Mercy. I meant no harm.” Frustration coiled around him, with a heaping dose of suffocation. Too many people. Too many buildings. “The gate,” he breathed, warning himself to calm and find an exit to remove himself immediately. This absurd plan to follow the accelerant into the city had been an elaborate ruse. He’d been duped. Lured. Abandoned again.

  He whirled and searched the faces for some compassion—or at the least, wariness. He spied a young girl who blushed when he smiled at her. “I beg your pardon. The gate—which way to the gate?”

  The older woman whose child he’d nearly toppled, stepped in between them. Sprigs of gray hair stuck out of a loose bun atop her head. She laughed. “Which one?”

  More than one gate? “Uh . . . the closest one.”

  Skeptical eyes assessed him. “That’d be the Sheep Gate, straight that way. But you don’t want to go there, love, unless you plan to graze on rocky pastures.” Her words elicited a trickle of laughter from the crowd.

  Blazes. He was drawing the very attention he wanted to avoid. “Thank you,” he mumbled and started left.

  “No, love,” she said. “Go on the other way. You’ll ’ave better luck there.”

  Haegan ignored her, spotting an opening in the sea of bodies and aiming for it.

  “Fine, but don’t go asking for help if you ain’t gonna take it,” her words chased him.

  The clamor, the voices, the breathing, the smells closed in on him, tightening around his chest and constricting with every step. He needed air, needed to breathe. He’d do anything now for that lonely tower with its dampness warded off by the distinct scent of searage in the fireplace, and the isolation. Blessed isolation!

  And Gwogh.

  He almost laughed at the thought of his aged tutor. What would he think of Haegan wandering the largest city in the Nine? What would he say of the encounter with the Ematahri? Oh, the anger of the accelerant. He’d be outraged at the treatment Haegan had received.

  Or perhaps he’d say Haegan deserved it for caving to Kaelyria’s begging. For not being strong and following his convictions. It had been wrong. He’d known that. But her pleading had undone him.

  Kaelyria. Heaviness tugged at him. What was she doing now?

  A question without thought. She was prisoner in a bed, that’s what she was doing. And he was wasting his time here. Gathering supplies.

  He should just head out. Return to the cave.

  So . . . the Sheep Gate.

  Halfway down the street and slightly to the right, he saw shaggy black hair. Drracien? In order to see better, Haegan had to shift. But that hair—it was no doubt the accelerant. He was there talking to someone. Not just talking. Laughing. Then like a shot, the accelerant’s expression changed, he slapped the man on the shoulder, and turned to his left, weaving away through a small family group.

  Haegan started in that direction to catch up with the rogue. But where had he gone now? What had sent him scurrying?

  Red smeared into the drab market. A pair of sentinels, the official police of the Sanctuary, strolled past, talking to each other. Were they the reason Drracien fled? Why was an accelerant fleeing his own Brethren?

  Hurrying didn’t provide an answer or a better view. Instead, it only served to move Haegan farther from his point of escape.

  But . . . Drracien! Agitation tugged at Haegan. Why had he agreed to come, trusted the rogue? The sentinels were closer. He had no doubt his father-king would have every accelerant looking for him, including these two, though they may not know who he was or why the king wanted him.

  Haegan slid out of view of the sentinels, filled with sudden paranoia. He knew they didn’t have powers other than the gift to wield the Flames, but how many times had he wondered if Gwogh could read minds for the way he reprimanded unspoken thoughts and chided Haegan’s willful reluctance?

  Nudging along a small child who seemed to take a fascination with him, Haegan searched the family group. The others. Drracien in a blink had managed again to vanish.

  How does he do that?

  Forget the impudent man. Haegan had to get out of here. Already he’d drawn dubious attention to himself, and now sentinels were nearby. The old woman said the gate was straight ahead. Determination pushed him in that direction, his focus solely on—

  A green-clad figure stepped into his path.

  Haegan drew up short. Jujak!

  A captain stood tall and forbidding, staring around the crowd, two officers at his side.

  Heart in his throat, Haegan diverted to a side alley. He rushed through the anemic space, walls nearly touching his shoulders.

  “Stop!”

  The command propelled him faster, his ears tuned to the commotion that erupted behind him in shouts and screams. Running as fast as his legs would carry him, Haegan spotted an obstacle ahead. He jumped over it and crashed into the wall. A blaze of heat scored his elbow, but he pushed on.

  Behind him a familiar whoosh and hiss warned him that the sentinels may be helping the Jujak. A woman stepped out of a small doorway. Right into Haegan’s path.

  He whipped around her, mumbling apologies when she lurched with a yelp. He rounded another corner and shot up the wider road, grateful for a little more room to breathe and a lot more distance between himself and the Jujak.

  Getting lost in a crowd had never been so hard. It seemed as if his presence repelled the clusters of people. Each time he moved toward one, they broke up. He went to the right, where a man in a dark cloak stood talking with a handful of others. Businessmen. When he stepped closer, the man glowered and turned away.

  In a corner, people his age huddled, talking quietly. After a glance back and seeing neither red cloaks nor green uniforms, he melted into the group. A girl spoke of the tedious hours spent at the tavern serving men with large bellies and appetites—and not just for food. The thought turned Haegan’s stomach.

  “I don’t think you should stay here,” a soft whisper came at his ear.

  Haegan met a pair of murky brown eyes.

  The girl shifted her gaze to something behind him. “They’re after you, aye?”

  Though he said nothing, Haegan knew she understood his dilemma.

  “Go on in through the door,” she muttered, nodding to her left. “Up the stairs. There’s a window you can climb through at the back. But don’t be botherin’ no one, or I’ll send them up after you myself.”

  “Thank you,” Haegan breathed as he tucked his head and stepped back. He leaned into the door and slipped into darkness. He hesitated for a second, focusing on a long bright spot up and to his right. The window waited atop
two flights of steps. He scurried up the first, letting the rail guide him.

  A door opened straight ahead. A robed woman emerged, clinging to the arm of a man. Haegan’s mind awakened to just exactly where he’d taken refuge—a brothel. Sparks! He ducked and hurried up the next flight, feeling humiliation where there was none. Perhaps for the girl. She didn’t look any older than Kaelyria.

  At the window, he knelt and eased it up. An iron landing welcomed him into the midafternoon sun. He hustled down the stairs, then hopped from the four-foot dead space. Scurrying through the back alleys and wandering for what felt like hours, he headed away from the main market, deeper into residences.

  Quiet draped the dwellings in relative peace, the chaos of the market a distant thrum. Haegan folded himself into the shadow of a crooked tree behind a half-dozen one-story dwellings with a communal yard. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Mouth pressed to his arm, he sat, willing the Jujak back into the hills. Away from the city. Away from him. Return to Zaethien.

  Rest. He just wanted to rest.

  He sniffed at the thought. The last four years, he’d wailed about how he wanted adventure, to be out of the tower, to walk with other Seultrians. To see cities and meet the violent Ematahri. Run missions with the Raeng.

  He’d been naïve and foolish.

  Mayhap he was even now, believing that sitting beneath a mauri tree would save him. But still, he could neither gather the courage to move nor the fear to flee. So he sat. And thought. Of Kaelyria. His parents. Gwogh.

  Thiel.

  Was she worried about him? Or mayhap she’d given up on him, thinking he was captured. It had been hours, after all, since he’d let Drracien lure him into the city. Had Tokar convinced her to leave without him? He’d made no bones about abandoning him if Haegan brought more trouble on their group.

  He sat thinking through the route that delivered him to this residential park. And worked his way backward . . . back to the Sheep Gate.

  Lights flickered to life in the homes, alerting Haegan to the fact that he’d let his mind wander much longer than he should have. Picking himself up, he plotted his course out of the city. Which was guaranteed to fail because he did not know where he was. If he could make it back to the pig pen, he was sure to find his way out of the city. But therein lay the challenge—finding the pigs.

  Dusting off his pants, he made his way out of the small neighborhood. But not before he glanced back and surveyed the place of solace. He liked it here. This suited him. Cozy and warm, friendly.

  A rustle in the shadows stabbed him with fear. Was someone there? He let his gaze probe the darkness, but he saw nothing. Go on. Get moving. It would follow, would it not, that the poor section of town would have the taverns and—he shuddered, remembering the half-robed woman—brothels. When the sun went down, the lesser morals of low cities came to life, wasn’t it said?

  So he traveled in the direction of the dim glow of city life. As he trailed down one street after another, it grew brighter, as if drawing him onward. A crunch behind him sent a trill of fear up his neck, raising his hackles. Haegan looked to the side but kept moving. If someone was following him, he didn’t want to betray that he knew.

  Couldn’t be Jujak. They would seize the opportunity and attack. So who would track him? He couldn’t see for the darkness.

  Scritch.

  Resistance crumbled. Haegan hurriedly glanced back but saw only shadows and walls. A couple stumbled from a tavern with their arms wound impossibly around each other. He jerked forward, looking up again to the halo of light rimming the city, growing brighter still. At least he was on the right pa—

  A ripple of green.

  Haegan stopped. Jerked against a building, watching the shadows. Staring hard into the darkness ahead, he took a few more tentative steps.

  A glint. Light on . . . a shiny surface. Not a sword. Armor!

  Jujak!

  A lone figure strode across the road where Haegan had seen the glint, then vanished into the darkness. The same captain. He stepped back into view, the place the others waited obviously not deep enough to conceal him. Or perhaps, the young officer was overly confident in his belief that they could ambush Haegan.

  A door in front of Haegan swung open. Light spilled onto the street, along with a cloud of smoke from the tavern

  Haegan whirled around, spotted an alcove and whipped into it. Palm against the wood, he peered around the corner.

  The captain and at least three other Jujak moved toward the tavern.

  Haegan jerked back. And found himself not staring at wood slats, but eyes. A woman’s eyes!

  A yelp catapulted up his throat.

  “Shh!” A hand clamped onto his mouth. Another caught his tunic and yanked him forward, right against her as they hid in the alcove.

  Awareness of their bodies pressed together flared through Haegan. Propriety demanded he remove himself. But living demanded he not move. Writhing internally, he closed his mind to her curves. The floral scent of her hair.

  Boots thudded closer.

  Haegan held his breath, focused on the Jujak.

  The thuds slowed, hesitated.

  Palms still on the door, he pushed his head against the wood, his nose pressed into her hair. She stiffened, and he squeezed his eyes tighter.

  Rocks crunched beneath boots. Then the steps fell away.

  Haegan relaxed and stepped back. “I beg—”

  “No!” She again pushed her hand against his mouth. “They will find me,” she whispered and peeked out, then slipped beneath his arm. “Hurry. This way.” Her small hands dug into his tunic and pulled.

  Haegan followed but argued with himself each step of the way. Until she led him into an inn. Her warm hand slid down his arm and her fingers threaded through his as she drew him to a table at the back. “Sit,” she hissed.

  With a frown, he shook his head. “I beg your mercy, I—”

  “Sit or you will betray us.” Her features softened from panic to pleading. “They will arrest me.” She lifted a roll from beneath the table, one she’d apparently stolen. “We were hungry.”

  “Look.” He eased onto the edge of the chair across from her. “I am sorry for your troubles and situation, but it is impossible for me to remain with you.”

  “They will not think to look at a woman and her husband.”

  Haegan felt his eyes widen, stunned at her suggestion. “Mercy, but I—”

  “Oh, I do not expect that of you. I just need to buy some time.”

  “And buy some food, if you plan to take up that table,” came a gravelly voice.

  “Sorry, si—” Haegan met the steely eyes of a very thick woman with a hard expression that could rival the young captain’s. “Ma’am. We—”

  “Stew and grog, please.” The mystery woman produced two pitz coins and handed them to the tavern lady.

  She had coins but stole a bun? Haegan wrestled with the thoughts as the innkeeper tucked the pitz into her apron and disappeared, mumbling about a girl thinking she’s prettier than everyone else and lording it over them.

  Haegan leaned closer. “I thought you were poor. Why steal when you could have easily purchased it?”

  She gave him a shy smile, her face framed by long reddish-brown hair, and bit into the roll. “You’re a gallant type. I saw you were in trouble, what with those Jujak stalking the streets and you ducking out of sight when you saw them.” She lifted a thin shoulder. “Knew you wouldn’t take a girl’s help unless you thought she was in trouble.”

  Disbelief wound through him. “You—what?” He shook his head. “How did—”

  “Sitting under the tree, you wasn’t doing nothin’. Then slinking through them shadows till you set eyes on the soldiers.” When she shrugged again, her hair rippled like fire beneath the wall-mounted torches. “Not hard to figure out.”

  And to think, he never saw her. But he’d heard her, hadn’t he? The scritch. Then finding himself pressed against her. “I beg you
r mercy for—in the alley—” Heat flared across his cheeks.

  She smiled. “I’ve been pinned by worse.”

  Surprised at her casual disregard of a substantial offense, he considered her. “For that, I am truly sorry. No lady should be in such a situation.”

  The innkeeper returned and dropped two tin plates on the table, along with two mugs. “Eat up and clear out. I’ve no patience for loiterers.” And with that, she was gone.

  The girl giggled. “It’s a wonder she has any customers.” Her accent had faded. She seemed to have noticed too, but quickly lifted the spoon and ate.

  “Might I have the name of my rescuer?” Haegan asked.

  She hesitated, then raised her spoon again. “You’ll eat, then be off like the witch said.”

  A few things struck him then—her authoritative tone, though the way she led him into this tavern indicated she was used to being in control; her wavering accent, as if she wasn’t good at it; and the way she called the woman a witch. That implied either she was very familiar with the innkeeper’s disposition and had granted her the epithet, or she didn’t know her at all and relegated her to a disposition rather than a name.

  “Excuse me,” she said, pushing up from her chair. “I need more grog.”

  Haegan’s mind spun. He didn’t know whether or not to trust her. That called into question the stew, of which he’d eaten but a few bites—and hadn’t felt an overwhelming urge to cut out his own stomach yet. So if she wasn’t trying to kill him, why would she help him?

  A hand grabbed his tunic and yanked him upward. “Sparks! Are you a fool or what?”

  Black hair. Light blue eyes slowly took focus. Drracien. Indignation surged through Haegan. He pushed the accelerant back. “You left me!”