by Ronie Kendig
Haegan jerked to his friend. “You said I was being tracked!”
“You were.”
“Yes, but I thought you meant spies or assassins, like the two we met in the woods overlooking the Great Falls.”
Drracien’s lips twitched into a smile, and Haegan felt as if he’d stepped into a trap. The rogue turned to the velum pages once more. “Chïphlïæng.”
“Sign two!” Kedulcya pronounced.
Haegan laughed—or tried to. “Does it mean assassins?” He swallowed, afraid of the answer.
“No,” Gwogh said, his expression grave. “It’s a word that indicates sharing the same womb—siblings.”
Nausea roiled through him. Astadia and Trale were brother and sister. Siblings. “No.” Haegan gripped his pounding head. “No, this . . .”
“There is more,” Drracien said. “The Thræïho are the Drigovudd.”
Haegan could not stop the laugh that burst from his mouth, barking and crazy. Like this whole scenario. “Blazes! First the raqine, now you’re going to tell me the immortal giants are returning?”
“Ah, this one Drracien has wrong,” spoke the quietest of the eight council members. “Thræïho is simply Drigo. The giants.”
“Yes, yes,” Kedulcya agreed. “Rightly so, Adek.”
“In the time of the Parchments,” Adek went on, “there was no division between the Drigo and the Drigovudd.”
“Indeed.” The tall, burly one nodded eagerly. “That only happened after man began enslaving the creatures, which was ludicrous! Drigo live but for one purpose—to serve. They served everyone. The mistreatment was especially cruel. It’d be like torturing a kitten because it was cute and you wanted it to be cuter!”
“They do not need a history lesson just yet, Voath.” Gwogh turned his attention to Haegan. “To answer your question, yes—the Drigo are returning. They were seen coming down from the mountains the day you arrived here.”
Abiassa, help him. They thought him the Fierian? “This is madness!”
“There is much more,” Drracien said.
“Would you hear it?” Aoald’s voice was nasal and annoying.
“No! No, I would not hear it.” Haegan held his temples, pressing hard as if he could push his fingers through his brain.
“What ails you, prince?” Aoald asked.
“Oh, I don’t know—the whole destroying the world prophecy.” A thought lit through him, panic beating a hard cadence in his chest. “Wait.” What had he . . .? He rounded on Drracien. “You said something about something worse than the Flames.” He wagged a hand at his friend. “The he-all-something.”
Drracien snorted at Haegan’s butchering of the word. “He-ahwl abiałassø.”
Snapping his fingers, Haegan exclaimed, “Yes! That. You said it was far greater than wielding the Flames.”
“Yes.”
“So it’s wielding?”
Gwogh slowly nodded. “I suppose you could call it that.”
“Ha!” Haegan clapped his hands together and breathed an enormous sigh of relief. “Then it can’t be me. I can’t be the Fierian.” Giddiness surged through him.
“Why?” Drracien scowled.
“I can’t wield. Never have.” Thank his Maker. Relief was sweet and victory glorious. He blew out a long breath, nodding. “And I tell you, I have no regrets that I am not this person—no, this creature—for what person would ever kill every living being?”
Age and sadness slowed Gwogh’s climb to his feet. He lowered his pipe. “My dear, Haegan.” Gray eyes shone with regret as he clamped a bony hand on Haegan’s shoulder. “I am afraid that is simply not true.”
49
Hand cupped over her mouth, Thiel leaned against the wall outside Haegan’s chambers. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she listened to Gwogh and the others. Their words terrified her. But also explained so much.
She stymied the tears to hear what was said next and peered once more along the narrow sliver where the door stood ajar.
“You were gifted from birth,” Gwogh went on.
“No!” Haegan yelled. “No, I have no gifts. The entire kingdom rejoiced in that when I was struck down with poison by Dyrth’s agent.”
Beneath the gray beard, Gwogh’s lips twisted as if in pain.
“You have the ability to wield, Haegan.” Drracien sounded so certain. So mature. “I saw you in the field after Hetaera. You were very angry with me.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m not. The embers—that’s what we call the gathering of the heat in your hands when you’re first learning to spark or wield—were there. I saw them.” Drracien didn’t sound angry. “I said nothing for two reasons: One, it did not make sense that you could wield. Even you claimed you couldn’t.”
“Because I can’t!”
Drracien drew in a breath. “And two—because the way you wielded, the singularity of the focus, the strength of the embers—I’ve never seen its like.”
“I don’t—No! It can’t be—”
“What I saw, Haegan, was a purer light than I’ve ever seen before. I’ve trained sparkers for years, and . . .”
Thiel leaned closer, listening harder.
“What you did without even knowing it—honestly, it frightened me.”
“Great,” Haegan mumbled. “Now you’re afraid of me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“The most dangerous wielding,” came Gwogh’s firm, deep voice, “is done by someone who has the power but not the understanding or instruction.”
“I can’t wield,” Haegan said again.
Thiel could feel his anguish. It echoed in her own heart.
“No, no. This can’t be . . .”
“It’s imperative you take instruction to protect yourself and those around you,” Gwogh said. “It’s why I tried to stop you at the Falls. You saw me. You saw our Council there. But did you see anything else?”
“No, what I saw was you trying to stop me—”
“And it angered you.”
“Of course! I had to free Kaelyria. My one goal was to free my sister. If I didn’t—”
“Kaelyria?” Gwogh asked, his tone conveying understanding. Deep understanding. “Ahhh, it makes sense now.”
“What?”
“How she convinced you to leave. Why you believed a month was crucial.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sympathy lurked in the crinkles around Gwogh’s eyes. “My prince, I’m afraid there was no turning back. There was no recovery of her gifts or from her paralysis. Kaelyria must have known this. As an accelerant, she would have been taught—”
“No! Do not speak of my sister as such. She would not lie to me.”
“To protect the Nine and her gift at this desperate hour, she probably thought it worth the risk.” Sadness washed over his face. “Perhaps even more.”
Bile rose in Haegan’s throat. He shook his head. “I . . . that . . . no! I can’t believe that.”
“What we must focus on is training you.”
“No.” His voice went shrill this time as he punched to his feet. “No, this . . . this isn’t right.”
Thiel shifted, watching him approach the door.
“My prince—”
“Calm—”
“Leave off!” Haegan shouted.
“Please—”
“No!”
Thwap! The doors flung wide. Snapped against the wall. Haegan rounded the corner. Thiel straightened, locked gazes with Haegan. Agony twisted across his face, tightening his lips.
Light bubbled around his hands.
With a gasp, Thiel drew back.
Anguish washed through him as he looked at his hands. Eyes wide, he glanced back at her, regret as clear as his features. He turned and sprinted in the other direction.
“Haegan!” Thiel darted after him.
And slammed into a dark blur. Arms tightened around her. “No!” Drracien growled. “It’s too dangerous.”
&nb
sp; Writhing against him, Thiel felt her own volley of anger and anguish. “Release me!”
“I can’t.”
“Let go,” she screamed, hot tears racing down her cheeks.
“He could kill you.”
She pummeled him with her fists, thrashing against his restraint. “Haegan!” She couldn’t let him go, thinking she was afraid of him.
Pounding feet echoed though the hall. “Release her!”
“No, hold her,” an older voice spoke. “She must not go to him. Not now.”
“Unhand my daughter!” Her father’s voice boomed like a punch in the chest.
Drracien’s hands fell away.
Thiel stumbled back from Drracien and Gwogh, furious and sobbing. Tili’s arms came around her, comforting—or trying to.
“Explain yourself, accelerant,” her father demanded. “Who are all these people in my home?”
“It is time, Thurig.” Gwogh’s voice was exceptionally calm and authoritative.
Thiel pulled away from her brother. “Time for what?” She looked to her father, who seemed to have gone pale. “Father?”
“You have hidden by the mountains long enough,” Gwogh said. “He needs your instruction.”
“What instruction?” Thiel demanded.
Her father shifted, skating a glance in her direction but not meeting her gaze. He rubbed his fingers and thumbs together. “I can’t.”
Gwogh’s face darkened. “You must.”
“Whatever happened to him at the Falls . . . my gifts are lessened.”
“You think me a fool? We’re all lessened! You still have enough to train him.”
“I can’t. I promised her long ago—”
“Your vow to Abiassa is a higher oath,” Gwogh growled. “And I would tread softly. Haegan has a Deliverer assigned to him.” Though Gwogh stood a head taller, her father made up for his lack of height in his bearing. Broad-shouldered and bearded, he was formidable.
Her father’s ruddy complexion went white. He wavered, as if about to collapse.
“It’s true. He’s marked.” Thiel stared at the two men, two mighty men—one a king, one a powerful accelerant—arguing.
“Father,” Tili sidestepped her. “What—?”
“Silence,” their father snapped. Looked down. Slumped in some unseen defeat. “It’s him, then?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Her father gave one more shake of his head and let out a heavy breath. Silence wrapped him in an ominous shroud for several long, aching seconds. “Very well.”
“Father?”
He strode down the hall after Haegan without a word of explanation, his shoulders squared, his head high.
Tili seized the silence. “What was that about? What oath to Abiassa?”
“The oath of an accelerant,” Drracien said as he started in the opposite direction.
World upended by those words, Thiel dragged her gaze back down the hall her father and Haegan had taken.
“What?” Tili demanded. “Our father is an . . . accelerant?”
“One of the most powerful, next to the Fire King,” Gwogh said.
“How is that possible? He detests wielding—banished it!”
With a gentle incline of his head, Gwogh gave a long, thoughtful look. He bowed. “I beg your mercy. I must see the council to safety.”
With Haegan’s chambers emptying, Thiel dropped against the wall. Haegan was the Fierian. The most deadly, powerful person to exist in the history of Primar. The Scourge, he had been called. She slid down, the heel of her hand against her forehead, and she cried. She cried so hard her side and head hurt.
Tili stood there, arms crossed.
When her sobs turned to stuttering breaths, she swiped her sleeves over her face.
“What happened?”
She fought another swell of tears. “He . . . I had come to talk to him, but I heard them—heard him”—she pursed her lips to the side to stop the crying—“yelling. He was so angry. They . . . then I heard them. They told him”—she cupped a hand over her mouth, a sob catapulting up with the words—“he’s the Fierian.”
Tili bent over. Gripped his knees, then dropped back against the opposite wall. He swept his hands over his stubble. With an oath, he moved to a crouch across from her, hands dangling between his legs, gaze on the windows at the end of the hall where their father had gone. “And Father an accelerant.”
Head propped on the wall, she looked at the arched windows and shuddered. “Haegan came out—he was still so angry.” She sniffled. “So angry at them—his hands, his whole body, seemed to ripple with energy.” She shook her head. “It startled me, after hearing their proclamation. I jumped.”
“And that made him angrier.”
“I didn’t mean to. I’m not afraid of Haegan—”
“Ye’d better be. I might not know the Parchments, but I know the Legends. The Fierian will destroy our world.”
“No,” Thiel said, her eyes blurring again. “That’s not Haegan. He’s a good man.” She curled her fingers into fists. “He’s good.”
Her brother considered for a long while. “Ye love him.”
She dropped her face into her hands.
50
Running fast enough was impossible. Escaping the horrific words hurled at him would require death. And with both arms spread wide, Haegan would as soon embrace that dark void than exist in the abhorrent reality consuming his life. He ran. Across the lawn. Down along the river until daylight faded among the trees.
He fell against a trunk, gripping the bark to stay on his feet. Bent and sucking in chunks of air, Haegan saw the ominous dance of heat around his hands and arms. “Augh!” He shook out his hands.
Sparks hissed against the forest litter.
A flame leapt to life. Then puffed quickly into a fire, breathing the rich air of the forest.
“No,” Haegan choked out, stamping the spot. He tucked his hands under his arms. Defeated, unable to argue the truth, he slumped to the ground. Dropped against the tree and let out a grievous groan.
Crinkling behind him yanked Haegan’s attention back in the direction from which he came. A dark blur sluiced through the shadows, glints of light poking a silky pelt.
Haegan whipped onto his feet. Watching the shadows, he held his breath. Tried to swallow against a mouth drier than a bed sheet. He held the tree to support himself, thinking to slip out of sight before whatever creature had come to end his life succeeded.
A wet mist sprayed his hand on the bark. He jerked around. And cried out, his heart thrown into his throat. Chima. A low chortle warbled from her belly, just like the heat plumes—embers, Drracien had called them—from an accelerant.
Haegan stepped back.
Chima dropped her front paws, watching him with her blazing eyes. A growl trickled through the forest, encircling his mind.
She’s going to kill me. Even she knows I am an abomination.
Another step back.
“She’s answering ye.”
Haegan again flinched and threw the briefest of glances to the side, unwilling to take his eyes from the massive raqine staring him down. “I didn’t ask her anything.”
King Thurig strode purposefully between them. “But ye did, prince.”
This was too much. Way too much. He could take no more. He sought escape.
“Chima answered when yer abiatasso cried out to her at the Great Falls.” He watched the raqine, pride in his brown eyes. “And she answers ye now that ye have learned yer identity.”
“It’s not my identity! I am Haegan, heir of Zireli.”
Thurig shook his head. Rubbed his beard and stood quiet for several long minutes. “Would ye like to learn a signal for Chima?”
Haegan hesitated, wondering why the king had not delivered a remonstration. “Signal?”
“She will respond to what is in ye, but there are also commands she will respond to . . . if she chooses.”
“If she chooses?”
“She is not a
beast of burden, young prince. She is yer ally, yer guardian.” His eyes darkened as he spoke. “The raqine are the mightiest of creatures to have existed on Primar, but the moment ye think of her as a horse or donkey, she’ll shake ye off like water on her coat.”
Haegan eyed Chima, who watched him with a focus that never relented, even when she slumped against the ground.
“And never mistake her rest for grogginess. It takes me at least two cups of strong coffee to wake my brain. The raqine is awake at all times, even when it rests.” Thurig moved next to Haegan as he spoke. “Now, here—hold yer left arm out like this.”
Irritation clawed through Haegan. He did not want instruction. He wanted isolation. “I just want to be alone. I—I need time to think.”
“You mean to run.”
Haegan ignored the comment.
“Don’t be so thickheaded. She’s allowed yer companionship, now honor that gift by learning her ways.” He shook his arm for emphasis. “Out like this.”
Grinding his teeth, Haegan held out his arm.
Thurig used his right hand to sweep down the length of the other arm, then arced it up and touched his temple. “There. Try.”
Haegan did as instructed.
Chima hopped onto all fours. With a big shake of her shoulders, she raced off.
Haegan frowned. “What—?”
The king shifted a few paces away. “Now.” He rolled his neck. “Ye want to be alone?” His gaze swept the woods around them. “Ye want to abandon what Abiassa has called ye to? Ye want to be hostage to yer anger and let it control ye, then I will help ye.”
Stupefied, Haegan just stared. Then looked again in the direction Chima had gone.
Rolling his hands in front of him, from top to bottom as if turning a wheel, Thurig lowered himself, then came back up, muttering words Haegan had not heard before. His eyes sparked gold, an intensity that belied his ambivalent expression.
Abiassian tongue. Haegan realized it too late.
The air popped.
And with it, gravity inverted itself. Haegan’s legs flipped over his head, as if a rope had ensnared him and lassoed him from a tree. “Augh!” Suspended. Angered. Haegan lashed out. His hands . . .
