Flame Singer (Fire Sower Book 2)

by Callie Kanno

  Idris stared down at his plate, stirring the rice and stew together. Hildar had gone out of her way to push Lennon away—telling him that she didn’t love him and that they had no future together. And yet, here she was raging against the possibility that he meet anyone else that might interest him.

  Women are strange, he observed to Iona, who was propped against the wall next to the table.

  Love makes all people strange, Iona answered simply.

  Chapter Seven: Hollow Cry

  Hildar seemed much calmer in the morning, to Idris’s relief. She didn’t offer any apology for her behavior, but she didn’t reprimand Aherin for smiling at Maren over their morning meal. Idris rode away from Acko feeling better than he had since leaving Marath. It was pleasant to done with the sour herbs that had kept the seasickness at bay.

  The group headed south, along the coast of Breen. To their right were rocky shores and grey ocean waves; to their left was a wide stretch of grassland. At first Idris was excited to see this new country. He studied the land around them, his head turning from side to side in eager motions. But his enthusiasm faded as the scenery grew monotonous. There was very little variety in the plant life, and there were few bird or animals to observe. Idris eventually found himself staring at his horse’s dark ears and letting his mind wander.

  Do you think we are wasting our time trying to reforge Hildar’s dagger? he asked his partisan.

  Iona hesitated before answering. I think it is a dangerous mission with little chance of success.

  Idris had known that Iona didn’t support what they were trying to do, but her blunt words still surprised him. So, you do think it is a waste of time.

  I did not say that.

  Idris frowned. Is that not what you meant, though?

  She chose her words carefully. It is never a waste to help those in need. Marlais lived by that belief.

  Even if we do not succeed? he challenged.

  Even then, she affirmed.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Idris’s mouth. Your words do not exactly inspire confidence.

  It is not my duty to reassure you when you have chosen to act against my advice, Iona said tartly. I told you back in Marath that I thought this mission was a bad idea.

  Idris nodded slowly. Why is reforging a weapon of power so dangerous? Have you seen it happen before?

  Idris could feel a twinge of reluctance from Iona as she answered. No, I have not seen it myself. But one hears stories…

  He couldn’t help chuckling at his weapon. Are you not the one who is always scoffing at the unreliability of second-hand tales? Every time I mention something I have heard about Marlais you mock it.

  This is different, she argued. Your versions of the tales of Marlais have been twisted and exaggerated over generations. The horrors of reforging magical items were spoken in hushed tones by those who had met the victims of the process.

  But you never met one of the victims yourself? Idris asked.

  There are some stories you dare not question, Iona murmured.

  Idris was tempted to tease his partisan for her superstition, but he never got the chance. The wind around the travelers stirred up suddenly, bringing with it the most haunting sound Idris had ever heard. It was a high-pitched wail, like a woman driven to the brink of madness through sorrow. The horses all shied nervously at the sound. Idris clutched at the reins, finding it difficult to breathe normally.

  The only person that didn’t appear alarmed was Captain Cowan. His scarred face remained free of any expression. “What was that?” Hildar gasped.

  “Come,” Cowan replied, “I will show you.”

  He nudged his horse forward, heading toward an upward slope to the south. Another cry drifted through the air, sending a shiver down Idris’s spine. He exchanged glances with Hildar and Aherin before reluctantly following their leader.

  The gradual incline led them higher and higher above the coastline. Before too long the ocean waves were crashing at the base of a cliff far below. Idris felt his stomach tighten as he pictured himself falling down to the icy depths.

  Oh, stop it, Iona said sharply. The only way you would fall is by acting like an imbecile.

  The wailing sound grew louder as they came to the top of the cliff. Idris couldn’t suppress the shudder that swept through him. “Is it a siren?” he asked fearfully.

  “Of course not,” Hildar snapped. “Sirens have been extinct for generations.”

  Idris noticed that Hildar was rubbing her palms on her thighs. Her expression didn’t seem as confident as her words.

  “It is not a siren,” Cowan confirmed. “Look.”

  Their horses had brought them to the edge of a deep and narrow ravine. It ran inland from the ocean shore as far as the eye could see. Idris dismounted so he could get a closer look. The ravine was bare rock all the way to the bottom, with no plants or moss to be seen. The floor of the ravine was a clutter mass of stones, damp from the frequent ocean spray.

  The wind swept in from over the water, down the ravine—resulting in the haunting wail that filled Idris’s ears. It was hard for him to believe that the wind could make such a sound.

  Cowan smiled grimly at the stunned faces of his students. “This place is called Hollow Cry. Locals say that the wind stirs up the ghosts that live in the ravine.”

  “I can understand why they would think that,” Aherin muttered.

  Hildar snorted in derision, but Cowan gave a small shrug. “Such superstition serves its purpose. It keeps this area free from unwanted visitors.”

  “Why would that be important?” Hildar questioned.

  Cowan pointed in the direction opposite of the coast, to a spot in the ravine that was wider than the rest. Looking as though it had been carved from the rock of the cliff, a dark tower rose up from the bottom of the ravine. Its highest point only came two-thirds of the way up the cliff, but the tower was imposing even from above.

  “Hollow Cry Tower,” Cowan said simply.

  “I have never heard its name before,” Hildar said with a frown.

  “That is the idea,” their leader replied.

  Cowan gestured for Idris to remount his horse, then he led the young soldiers a short distance to the east. Then, without warning, he turned his horse toward the edge of the ravine and rode off it.

  Idris’s heart jumped to his throat. He cried out in alarm before his mind could process the fact that Cowan was not falling to his death. Idris’s face flushed bright red as Aherin guffawed at him. Hildar shook her head in disgust, following Captain Cowan down the side of the cliff.

  Aherin followed next, leaving Idris by himself. He could still feel his blood racing, even though it was clear that there had been no danger. He inched his horse forward bit by bit until he could get a clear view of the path downward.

  Idris instantly regretted his thought that there was no danger. He closed his eyes, leaning back and gulping big breaths of air. “This has to be a cruel joke,” he whispered to no one in particular.

  The path down the cliff had been carved out of the rock, zigzagging back and forth until reaching the bottom. However, the road was not wide, nor was it gentle. One misstep could cause them to slide off the path altogether.

  You have never been bothered by heights before, Iona pointed out unsympathetically.

  “I have never had to ride a horse down a cliff before,” Idris said through gritted teeth.

  Do not be afraid, Iona assured him. I will protect you.

  He opened his eyes again. “You can do that?”

  Yes.

  Idris couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or just trying to make him feel better. She had kept him from falling down a well once before, but falling off a cliff seemed like a different matter entirely.

  Trust me and trust the horse. We know what we are doing.

  Idris nodded, urging his horse forward before he had a chance to change his mind. The dun mare stepped onto the path as calmly as if she were walking on flat ground. Idris had to l
ean back in his saddle to keep his balance as they began the steep descent.

  “I really could use a distraction about now,” Idris said to his partisan.

  Well, tell me one of your ridiculous stories about Marlais, and I will correct it for you.

  Idris gave a nervous chuckle. “My sisters’ favorite story was about when Marlais courted the Princess of the Enchanted Wood.”

  What?

  He laughed at Iona’s tone of disbelief. “There was a forest full of magic, where anything was possible. The Enchanted Wood was ruled by a woman of unspeakable beauty. Every man who laid eyes on her fell instantly in love.”

  Iona groaned, which sent a wide grin across Idris’s face. He went on in a stronger voice. “Marlais heard stories about the beautiful princess and decided that he would win her heart. But first, he had to fight his way through the Enchanted Wood.”

  I always think I have seen the limit of how ridiculous your stories can be, but then you prove me wrong, Iona ranted. Where did such lies even begin?

  “I take it Marlais was not married to a princess,” Idris chortled.

  Of course not, Iona answered tartly. A forest full of magic…what a foolish idea!

  “But that is where he gets the talismans he needs to save his beloved from the claws of Death,” Idris went on in mock solemnity.

  Every tale worse than the last, moaned Iona.

  Idris laughed again. “Very well, tell me about his real wife.”

  She was the daughter of a slave, Iona said shortly. Marlais was asked to bear witness against her in a court of law.

  Idris’s mouth dropped open. “For what?”

  For committing murder.

  “Had she done it?” he asked, aghast.

  Yes.

  A hundred questions flooded into Idris’s mind. He had never heard any story that came close to what Iona was telling him. One would think that such a tale would survive the ages. “What happened? How could Marlais fall in love with a murderer? Did he give testimony against her? Is that how she died?”

  He did give testimony, but that was before he truly understood what had happened. A series of events prevented Velia from being executed, and Marlais was charged with keeping her in custody. When he learned the truth of the circumstances surrounding the murder, he allowed Velia to escape.

  “And what were the circumstances?” Idris prodded.

  She had acted out of self-defense, was Iona’s simple answer.

  Idris rolled his eyes. “You are terrible at telling stories.”

  What more do you need to know? Velia was a good woman, but her life was filled with hardship. She did the best she could, no matter the circumstances.

  “Did she die before Marlais?” he asked quietly. “The stories say she did.”

  Yes.

  “Did Marlais find a way to bring her back to life?” Idris had a hard time keeping the excitement from his voice. He realized too late that his attempts to control his voice didn’t matter. Iona could sense his emotions.

  He certainly tried, Iona answered. Idris could feel a wave of disapproval from her at his obvious enthusiasm.

  “I am sorry,” he apologized. “I do not mean to seem unfeeling. Marlais has always been my favorite hero in bedtime stories. Sometimes I forget that he was real to you.”

  He still is, Iona corrected softly.

  Idris didn’t know what to say. He silently berated himself for being so insensitive to his partisan. She had been in a sort of trance for centuries, not realizing that Marlais Dragonspear was no more. To her, the news of his death was recent and painful.

  A jarring motion brought Idris’s attention to the path his horse was walking. They had made it to the bottom of the ravine much faster than he had thought possible. Cowan and the others were quite a distance ahead of him, approaching Hollow Cry Tower. Idris clucked his tongue at the dun mare, urging her to catch up with them.

  It wasn’t an easy task for the horse. The bottom of the ravine was uneven and covered with jagged rocks. The path grew less precarious as they drew closer to the tower, allowing them to move at a steadier pace.

  There was a single wooden door that led into the tower. It wasn’t grand or interesting in any way, which made it strangely more ominous to Idris’s eyes. Cowan dismounted at the foot of the stairs that led up to the wooden door. The others followed his example. They tied their horses’ reins to a stone pillar that appeared to be for that purpose, then they walked up the steps.

  Cowan raised his gnarled fist and pounded three times on the door. “I declare that you shall open to me,” he shouted in a powerful voice. “I am a wielder of a weapon of power, as are my companions. It is our right to enter.”

  Idris hardly had time to wonder at Cowan’s words. The door creaked open, revealing a black tunnel beyond.

  Chapter Eight: Hidden Knowledge

  Cowan strode into the darkness of the tunnel beyond the door without hesitation. Idris followed quickly, primarily because he didn’t want to lose sight of his leader. Once they were out of the bright midday sun, Idris’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the tower interior.

  The tunnel they were walking through was really a stone corridor. Small alcoves along their path held flickering candles to light the way. They passed a handful of wooden doors on either side before coming to a staircase that curved upward. Cowan mounted the steps, appearing to know exactly where he was going.

  Idris could feel Iona growing uneasy. Something is wrong here, farmer, she murmured.

  He placed his hand on the shaft of his polearm, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. Are we in danger? Idris asked her.

  I am not certain…

  They came to the landing of the next floor and stepped off the spiral staircase. A door stood between them and the rest of the floor, which Cowan pushed open and walked through. The torchlight on this level lent much more light than the ground floor. They were greeted on the other side by the first human they had seen since leaving Acko.

  “Welcome,” said the man in a pleasant tone. The man’s face appeared to be both young and old, which fascinated Idris. He wore a simple grey robe, belted at the waist with a leather thong. His white hair was shorn near his head, as was his well-trimmed beard. His expression was neutral, but his hazel eyes seemed to smile at them.

  Cowan bowed respectfully. “Master Emeric.”

  Emeric opened his arms and embraced the captain of the Royal Guard. “Cowan, my friend. It has been too many years.”

  “Twenty,” Cowan acknowledged.

  “Yes, twenty,” Emeric agreed. “I was surprised to hear your call at the door. I see you have brought some young ones with you.”

  Cowan turned to introduce his companions. “This is Master Emeric, the keeper of this tower and the most senior known wielder of an item of power.”

  Emeric nodded to them amiably. Cowan continued, “This is Lady Hildar, daughter of Lord Wythe of the Hazelwood Province. She is the wielder of the dagger Savion.”

  Master Emeric’s quick glance seemed to take in every detail of the young woman standing before him. He studied her eyes last, searching them so intently that Hildar shifted uncomfortably. Whatever it was that Emeric saw, he appeared to be satisfied. “Welcome to Hollow Cry Tower, my dear,” he said in a friendly manner.

  Cowan went on as if nothing was amiss. “This is Aherin, son of Dins. He is the wielder of the bow Liuz.”

  Emeric’s assessment of Aherin was much quicker than Hildar’s. “Welcome, young man.”

  “And this is Idris, son of Cadell. He is the wielder of the partisan Iona.”

  Emeric’s eyes widened. “Really? How interesting.”

  Idris found himself under a scrutiny as intense as Hildar had been. He could feel his cheeks growing warm as he did his best to return the gaze of Master Emeric. The older man’s hazel eyes delved into his own, and Idris wondered if his thoughts were as easy for Emeric to see.

  He is using magic on you, Iona noted.

  Idris’s insides
jolted. What?

  Do not worry, Iona continued. It is harmless. That ring on his finger is an item of power. It allows him to gain insight into those he sees.

  That didn’t seem harmless to Idris. He looked down at Emeric’s hand—he had not noticed the ring earlier. It was made of braided gold, with a stone that shimmered like an opal. The large majority of the items of power Idris had seen were weapons.

  Idris found his eyes drawn back to Emeric’s gaze, as if compelled to do so. Emeric studied him for a moment more before smiling gently. “Welcome to Hollow Cry Tower, Idris.”

  “Thank you,” Idris breathed.

  Master Emeric turned his attention back to Cowan. The two of them began walking down the corridor, leaving the others to follow. “Three new Wielders found within a year of each other,” Emeric commented. “How unusual.”

  “Yes,” Cowan agreed. “I thought so.”

  “Is that why you brought them here?” Emeric asked.

  Cowan shook his head. “No, we came to visit the library.”

  “Excuse me,” Hildar interrupted, “but what is this place? We have only been told its name.”

  Emeric paused in front of a large door with engravings on the wood. “That is what I am about to show you,” he said.

  He pulled open the door, gesturing for the others to pass through. Idris’s jaw dropped at the sight that met him. They appeared to be standing in the center of the tower, which was open to every level all the way to the top. There were at least a dozen floors that Idris could see; some appeared to have books, while others had glass cases with items in them. Glass lanterns filled every available space, making the entire tower feel warm and bright.

  Idris’s excitement was dampened by the growing tension emanating from Iona. The feeling is worse in this room, she warned. Whatever is causing this sense of foreboding is getting closer to us.

  He shifted from foot to foot. Can you not tell what is wrong?