Firewalk

by Anne Logston

  The High Priestess extended her hands, gazing into Kayli’s eyes. Kayli hesitated, but after so many years trust was ingrained; she took her mentor’s hands. Immediately a shock ran through her fingers and up into her arms, setting her body alight so powerfully that Kayli cried out involuntarily and snatched her hands away. Brisi nodded slowly.

  “You will be overjoyed to know there is no great harm done,” the High Priestess said kindly, gesturing at Kayli’s cup. Kayli quickly swallowed the hot, bitter liquid, and Brisi refilled her cup. “Because you had no previous exposure to the greater fire magics, you were unprepared for the intensity of it, and you opened yourself more to the Flame than was advisable for one so inexperienced.”

  “That much I know,” Kayli said slowly. “But still I cannot understand—”

  Brisi held up her hand, silencing Kayli.

  “You know the cycle of magic,” she said. “The gifted are sensitized to magic to which they have an affinity, and attract such energies to themselves. In time they learn to use this energy properly, focus it outward, but if by chance they manage to manipulate those energies before they learn control, it is in a random way, dangerous to themselves and those around them.

  “In absorbing the potent energies of elemental Flame,” Brisi continued, “you sensitized yourself to fire in all its forms. And just as your awareness of those energies increased, so, too, you increasingly draw them to yourself, and increasingly send them outward. What you felt when you touched me was your awareness of my own fire energies and your instinctive attempt to draw them into yourself. Have you felt that sensation otherwise since the Rite of Renewal?”

  Kayli felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

  “When I first returned from the Rite of Renewal,” she said. “When I first touched Randon—”

  Brisi nodded sagely. “Of course, I speculated that he might have some trace of the mage-gift. If he has any affinity to the Flame at all—”

  “He does,” Kayli interrupted, remembering how her small fire had danced in his hand, however briefly.

  “—such exposure may have sensitized him, in turn, to your magic,” Brisi finished. “He is, of course, completely unprotected, and just as you unconsciously draw on his fire energies, so he unconsciously draws on yours. If he does not manifest those energies, at least he will not become a danger, for if he has not managed it before now, he likely will. But you are another matter.”

  Brisi leaned forward.

  “A fire in the forge, however hot it burns, is a useful tool,” she said. “The tiniest spark flung uncontrolled into the grass is a danger beyond estimation. And you, my student, are more than a spark. You are an inferno.”

  “But what am I to do?” Kayli whispered. Brisi’s words had confirmed her worst fears.

  “The fire must be safely chained once more within the forge,” Brisi said gently. “You must return to us, of course, and relearn the control to safely harness your magic. You are a danger to yourself and to everyone around you, and even to the child I can sense that you carry.”

  “But I cannot return here,” Kayli said, trying to force the desperation from her voice. “I have responsibilities as the High Lady of Agrond.” And Randon. She remembered the way he had gazed into her eyes when he had drunk Brisi’s potion. In that moment Kayli had felt a great truth, that at last a bridge, however tenuous, had spanned the chasm between them. She could not leave him. And her father would never—

  Kayli’s heart gave a great wrench.

  No. Her father could never give or refuse permission again.

  “Clear your mind.” Waiting only briefly for Kayli to obey, Brisi laid a shallow iron bowl filled with oil in the center of the table; almost immediately it flared alight. As soon as the flames leaped up, a picture formed among them.

  Terralt, sitting on the throne of Agrond—and wearing the surcoat of Randon’s house.

  “Word has reached Terralt that you and your lord were slain by Bregondish warriors,” the High Priestess said. “Immediately he claimed the throne of Agrond, and no one could say him nay. Now he summons together Agrond’s army to march against Bregond, to avenge the death of its High Lord and Lady, and willingly they gather to do his bidding. For it is now believed that the marriage arranged by High Lord Elaasar was only a ploy to lull Agrond and coax its High Lord to the border where he could be assassinated, leaving Agrond vulnerable to invasion.”

  “But my father himself was killed,” Kayli protested.

  “Did you see his body?” Brisi countered. “Those who fled to tell the tale, some of your lord’s guards, and a young girl of Bregondish birth—”

  “Seba,” Kayli whispered.

  “—knew only that the Agrondish camp was attacked by Bregondish warriors. Terralt was prepared for such news. He was ready to take such steps as he has taken.”

  Brisi was silent then, and in that silence dread settled into Kayli’s heart.

  “It was he who caused the raid,” she said. “He allied with Sarkond to see Randon killed so he could take the throne with no blood on his own hands, and win the sympathy of Randon’s supporters. He told the raiders where they could ride to avoid the troops at the border. And he had them disguise themselves as Bregondish warriors to give him excuse to break the alliance and invade Bregond.”

  “I cannot see his thoughts,” Brisi said, dissolving the flame picture. “Only events which have already transpired.”

  “What of my father?” Kayli asked. “What of my sisters Kairi and Danine?”

  “Your father is dead.” Brisi said the words flatly. “You knew that before you asked. The fate of your sisters is hidden behind the smoke.” She gazed steadily at Kayli. “You must mourn your family, child, and let them go.”

  “Yes.” Kayli sighed. “But the throne of Bregond—Kairi was Heir—”

  “You have three sisters who still live,” Brisi said sternly. “One of them will assume that burden. If a raging grass fire rules the land, there is soon no land to rule.”

  “But what of Randon?” Kayli asked, ashamed that she had almost forgotten her husband.

  Brisi smiled reassuringly.

  “So you have formed some attachment for this man, only a few months after an arranged marriage which you would have refused if you could?” she said gently. “There speaks the generous heart I knew. But you know that if he returns to his home, he will certainly be killed. Nor can he stay here, exposed to our magic. But we can Gate him to another country where he can live safely, or perhaps he will choose to make his home in Bregond, where in time perhaps you can be together again.”

  Brisi gazed probingly into Kayli’s eyes.

  “But you may find that your path of service to the Flame and to Bregond lies within this temple.”

  Longing shook Kayli to her core. To spend her life in the temple, to become a part of that great work, to wield the Flame as a tool for the good of her country, her people—

  Resolutely she pushed her mind away from that thought. The first precept even in the temple was duty.

  “I cannot do as you ask,” she said. “I am blood-bound to my husband, and I carry his child. My place and my duty is with them.” But perhaps at least she could spend some time in the Order, regaining her discipline and control. Surely Randon could not deny her that much.

  Brisi smiled.

  “You have a great deal to consider,” she said. “Go and meditate on what I have told you, and we will speak again soon.”

  Vayavara was waiting outside the door for Kayli, an unreadable expression on her face; without a word, she turned and led her down the hall. To Kayli’s surprise, they did not return to Kayli’s rooms, but turned to another section of the inner temple quarters. Vayavara paused outside one of the doors.

  “I would have words with you,” she said, rather coldly. “My quarters are warded. Will you come in?”

  Kayli was surprised, but intrigued. Vayavara had been polite to her during her stay at the temple, but had made no effort to be friendly. At last she
nodded and followed the priestess through the door. There was a brief, unpleasant disorientation when she stepped through the wards, but the effects passed quickly.

  Vayavara’s quarters were as large as the room Kayli occupied now, but to Kayli’s surprise, the priestess had kept her rooms even more barren than Kayli’s simple novice cell. Vayavara’s pallet on the floor was empty of padding, and there was no blanket. There was no other furniture, either, not even a table for the books stacked neatly by one wall or the copper pitcher and bowl in a corner. There were two plain woven mats on the floor; Vayavara sat on one, motioning Kayli to the other.

  “You have listened to Brisi’s words,” Vayavara said without preamble. “Do you believe all that she told you?”

  Kayli paused before answering. Was this some sort of test? Vayavara’s eyes were unreadable.

  “Are you saying I should disbelieve what my mentor has told me?” she asked carefully.

  “I am saying that you should listen both to what she tells you, and what she does not,” Vayavara said flatly.

  “And what has High Priestess Brisi not said?” Kayli asked.

  “Ask yourself that.” Vayavara smiled slowly. “Ask yourself also why your husband sleeps on, and in what state.”

  Kayli was on her feet before she realized she had bolted up from the mat.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded. “Are you telling me that Randon is in danger? Explain yourself!”

  Vayavara rolled to her feet in one fluid motion, and although her expression remained calm, her eyes flashed fire.

  “You have earned no right to speak to me in that way,” the priestess said coldly. “Nor to make demands of me. Wearing the robe of a priestess does not make you my equal in this temple.”

  Kayli took a deep breath, forcing herself to a semblance of calmness that she did not feel.

  “Pardon my discourtesy,” she said. “There is no excuse for my lack of respect.”

  Vayavara stood silently for a moment, eyeing Kayli critically. Then she turned and walked to the door.

  “Follow me,” she said without looking back.

  Kayli wanted to seize Vayavara’s shoulders and shake her until the priestess explained her hints, but she did not doubt that Vayavara could blink away any threat that she could possibly pose. The priestess would tell her exactly what she wished to tell and not one word more, and if Kayli wanted even that, she had best not provoke Vayavara.

  Vayavara led her deeper into the temple; rounding a corner, Kayli found herself following the priestess down a staircase she had never seen before. The stone stairs descended to a surprising depth; at last they ended in a long stone hall with doors on both sides. Vayavara produced a key from her pocket and unlocked the nearest door, motioning to Kayli to look inside.

  The room was small and almost barren. Randon lay on a plain cot, innocent of cushions or blankets, in the center of the room, with a single lit torch at each corner of the cot. Drawn on the floor around the cot was a circle of runes which glowed with a faint but steady flame. To Kayli’s dismay, he wore the same torn and dirty clothes he had come in, and his face and hands were still smudged with dirt as well, his hair tangled. He lay so still that for an agonizing moment, Kayli wondered whether he actually breathed; then a single slow inhalation lifted his chest, and what seemed an eternity later, a long exhalation lowered it.

  The whole sight so amazed and horrified Kayli that she would have charged into the room immediately; when she stepped forward, however, Vayavara raised one arm to bar her way.

  “I do not understand,” Kayli said desperately. “High Priestess Brisi told me Randon would be tended.”

  “He has been attended to, there is no denying it,” Vayavara said with a touch of irony. “And, as Brisi said, he sleeps. Indeed, he will continue to sleep until he is awakened—or until he is beyond all waking.”

  This time Kayli could hardly swallow her fear and rage.

  “Tell me what you wish to say,” she said slowly. “Play no games with your hints and implications. I am in no position to match myself against you, as well you know.”

  Vayavara gazed narrowly at Kayli, then nodded slowly.

  “Come back to my room,” she said. “Within the wards we may speak freely.”

  “But Randon,” Kayli protested.

  “He will stay where he is, as he is,” Vayavara said indifferently. “At this moment he is in no danger.”

  Reluctantly Kayli followed the priestess, but she carefully noted the route back to the small cell. This time she sat with less hesitation when Vayavara took her own place on the mat.

  “High Priestess Brisi knew of your marriage to the Agrondish lord before any message ever reached her,” Vayavara told her. “Did you never question why?”

  “She said that the temples listened to rumors of important events,” Kayli said slowly. “Or perhaps she foresaw it.”

  “You know nothing,” Vayavara said contemptuously. “It was Brisi herself who suggested the marriage to High Lord Elaasar. Do you believe that the Orders are merely a training ground for young mages? Not so. Warriors are the arrows of Bregond, but we are the hand that pulls the bow. The High Lord is the mouth of Bregond, but we are the will that speaks through that mouth. Are you truly naive enough to believe otherwise?”

  Kayli said nothing, too stunned to make any argument.

  “Always the Orders have been a silent power,” Vayavara told her. “We healed the sick, brought the rain, stopped the great grass fires, and more—but most of all, we assured our people of their safety, a sheathed sword to be drawn in time of need. The Sarkondish raids were a reminder that we would always be needed. But now, with this scheme to ally Bregond with Agrond, that sword seemed soon to be broken.”

  “Why do you speak of Sarkond?” Kayli asked, forcing out the words from a mouth gone suddenly dry.

  “Do not be a child,” Vayavara said impatiently. “Ask yourself this: What would become of the Orders if Agrond and Bregond became one?”

  It took all of Kayli’s self-discipline even to consider the question when her heart still gazed into that small room at the sleeping form of her husband. But Vayavara’s words roused her curiosity. What would happen, indeed? With no further threat from Agrond, with Agrond’s troops allied with theirs to repel Sarkondish raiders, perhaps make a decisive strike against Sarkond itself, the great battle magics of the Orders would become useless. As the borders opened and trade increased—well, what matter if the rain did not come, when grain could be purchased in abundance from Agrond? Who needed the earth magics to guide the herds to good grazing when lush pasturage lay just across the border?

  And there were so few mages in Agrond, the magical strain must run thin in their blood. When Bregonds and Agronds intermarried, as surely they would, there would be fewer mages born. And each year the Orders would grow smaller and fewer.

  But what if the High Lords of both countries made such an alliance, threatening the power of the Orders? How could the Orders protect themselves without at the same time showing the sword that had, until then, remained sheathed?

  Kayli felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Are you telling me,” she said hoarsely, “that the Orders allied with Sarkond from the beginning? Caused the raids, the killing, the enslavement?”

  “‘Caused’ is too strong a word,” Vayavara said calmly. “‘Encouraged’ would be a better choice. But when your father thought to ally with Agrond, encouragement was no longer enough. Terendal had a bastard son groomed to take his place. This son disapproved of the alliance, but his ambition outgrew his disapproval. If his word to carry on his father’s plans was required to secure his position, he would give it—and unfortunately he would keep it. But Terendal had a younger son, unmarried, less favored. If this son was chosen as Heir, the people would reject him, especially if he took a Bregondish wife. And when he was removed from power, the elder brother would take the throne, and all would be as it was before.”

  “But why take such
a chance?” Kayli asked warily. “There was no certainty that Randon would be deposed.”

  Vayavara gave her a pitying glance.

  “There was never any risk,” she said. “Lord Randon could not be confirmed as High Lord unless his wife bore an heir. And a novice who trusted her mentor would never guess that the ‘fertility potion’ she drank would in fact prevent conception.”

  “You must be wrong,” Kayli said, clenching her hands hard to stop their shaking. “Why would High Priestess Brisi give me the very spell to negate such a potion?”

  “She gave you the grimoires to study,” Vayavara corrected, “to keep you loyal to her, and because she had plans for you to take her place in the temple. No, you would be assumed barren and set aside as Randon’s wife. Terralt would use that opportunity to have Randon removed from power, and Brisi’s goals would be accomplished with no open intervention.

  “Unfortunately you and your lord did not oblige her,” Vayavara continued. “You were gaining in popularity, both of you. It seemed possible that you might remain on the throne long enough to suspect that your failure to conceive was, in fact, no failure of yours. So additional measures were taken.”

  A shock ran through Kayli’s body.

  “You cannot mean for me to believe that my High Priestess had me poisoned,” she whispered. “After what you have said, how can I believe she wished me dead?”

  Vayavara laughed coldly.

  “How innocent you are. I have told you that Brisi took no risks. When she can manipulate you into taking your own poisoner into your household, it is simple to arrange for that poisoner to know—and administer—the remedy. One simple move accomplished much. Arrabia is a Sarkondish poison, so suspicion would naturally fall upon that country or its agents. And it is a slow poison. By the time it took effect, your lord’s closet supporters would seem the most likely suspects, causing a schism between him and them. The slowness of the arrabia would allow time for the cure to be given. And, of course, one effect of arrabia poisoning is lasting barrenness.”