Heart of Fire

by Kristen Painter

  Haemus snored loudly. Ertemis shook the man awake. “You can sleep tonight. Time to ride.” Ertemis mounted Dragon before Haemus’ eyes opened.

  “I’m up!” The merchant started. “Ya needn’t bruise a person!” He no sooner finished speaking before a coughing fit bent him over. Red-faced, he gasped, “Hold yerself still a minute.” Haemus went to the stream and drank his fill. Finished, he hoisted himself onto Petal. He motioned his hand forward, still winded from coughing. “This wretched country air could kill a man.”

  With a nudge, Ertemis moved Dragon forward. His mind wandered in the possibilities of his future. Haemus found his voice and began another one-sided conversation.

  The air cooled as the elevation rose. The tall pines of the low country gave way to the scrubby brush of the foothills, and the broad open sky blushed with the setting sun. The night calmed Ertemis. He reveled in the silence before he realized Haemus had not asked to stop in some time. In fact, he could not recall exactly when the man’s chattering had ceased. He heeled Dragon and looked back.

  Haemus was slumped unmoving over Petal’s neck.

  * * *

  Jessalyne dreamed of freshly baked bread, warm from the oven, and a big bowl of something hot and savory to dip it in. She opened her eyes, unsure for a moment of her surroundings.

  The coverlet was hers, as was the bed. Stars sparkled before her when she sat up too quickly. She let out a great sigh just as Corah popped her head in the room.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Have I been asleep long?”

  “A while. It’s almost lastlight. Are you hungry?” She smiled broadly. “Orit was very hungry.”

  “Orit! How is he?”

  “Perfect. Wonderful. Papa announced a day of celebration at the lake tomorrow in your honor.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “Orit came running home and Mama almost fainted when she saw him. He was yelling you were sick and needed help. We all rushed back here. Mama and I put you into bed...”

  They had touched her.

  “...and Papa rekindled your stove fire. Orit gathered vegetables from your garden and I made stew and bread.”

  “That’s what I smell! I’m starving.” Jessalyne swung her legs out of bed.

  “Mama and Papa took Orit home, so I’m the only one here. I’ll set a bowl out for you.”

  Still in her everyday tunic, Jessalyne hurried to the table. Her stomach growled as she took the first bite. The vegetable stew tasted even better than it smelled. She ate slice after slice of the hot brown bread drizzled with honey.

  Despite weakening her, the use of her magic to heal had left her with a great lingering peace. Warming bath water had never done that.

  She moved from the table to her chair near the fire. “Sit with me. Do you ever wonder what your purpose in the realm is?”

  Corah cocked her head as she took the other chair. “I’m cervidae. My purpose is to serve the greater good of the herd, to watch Orit, mind my father, help my mother with chores and in time, to be a good wife to Emmitt.”

  “Beyond that I mean. What are you here to do?”

  Corah gave her the same quizzical look. She shook her head. “I am doing what I am meant to do.”

  Jessalyne started to ask again but then just smiled. Perhaps she should adopt Corah’s view of life in the grove. Perhaps she should concentrate on the good feelings from healing Orit, think more about the present and less about the future.

  “You’re a good friend. You are indeed doing what you are meant to do.” She turned the conversation to herbs and quizzed the girl on remedies while trying to convince herself her simple life contained all the purpose it needed. As much as she wanted to leave, she really had nowhere to go, and no idea how to find whatever it was she was looking for.

  * * *

  “Haemus!” Ertemis wheeled Dragon around and rode to Haemus’s side. He shouted the man’s name again. Still no answer.

  He grabbed the man’s shoulder and tried again to get a response. Haemus was burning up. Ertemis eased him back. The merchant groaned. His head bobbed, chin to chest. Blotches of red and white mottled his skin. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his hair stuck to his cheeks in damp wisps. “Don’t feel sa good,” he whispered before collapsing over Petal’s neck again.

  Playing nursemaid to some human was not part of Ertemis’s plan. The fates must be out to get him. Nothing ever went right in his life.

  He made a hasty camp near a large clump of Devil’s Toothbrush. The warrior in him sought the most protected spot at all times. Soon he had a fire blazing against the night’s chill.

  He plucked Haemus from Petal’s back and got him settled onto a cleared section of ground between the fire and cluster of scrub brush. A weak moan escaped Haemus. Ertemis tried to give him water, glad the merchant had filled his waterskin at the last stop.

  The man sputtered and water spilled over his chin. “Where are we?”

  “Camped. You cannot ride further.”

  Haemus coughed. His body shook as he struggled to sit up. “I got the fever, ain’t I?”

  “Aye.”

  Leaning toward the fire, Haemus shivered. Ertemis pulled the thin saddle blanket off Petal and draped it over the sick man’s shoulders. Humans were such weak creatures. Hardly any of them had magic. How could his mother have lain with one? Was it any wonder the gutless cretin had ignored her once he’d gotten what he wanted?

  “I ain’t got long then,” Haemus muttered through chattering teeth.

  Ertemis didn’t know what to say. Death was a familiar thread in the cloth of his life, and most often he was the weaver, not the wearer. At least this time, death had not come from his own hands.

  “Rest. I’ll get food.” Ertemis started toward the packs.

  “Wait, stay. Please...” Hacking coughs cut Haemus off. He caught his breath and continued. “A word.”

  Ertemis trudged back and crouched beside him. “What?”

  “I know I ain’t gonna get over this, and I got something needs doin’.” Filmy eyes looked up at Ertemis as the man reached beneath the collar of his tunic. He pulled a brown suede bag from a cord around his neck. No bigger than a fist, it was sweat stained by years of being worn close his body.

  “There’s a key in here. Give it ta my daughter.” His gaze drifted, unfocused. “The box is buried under the garden bench. Tell her I’m sorry. I weren’t a good pa and I’m sorry. Tell her I don’t bear no ill against her for what she done—”

  A fit of coughing came over him, and some time passed before he could finish. “Tell her it ain’t her fault she is the way she is. And I don’t blame her for it.” His voice weakened. “Poor thing, all alone.” He coughed again. “Take a sack of coins from my pack fer payment an’ give the rest ta her.”

  He mumbled directions, something about following the Callaoja River to Callao Lake and someplace Ertemis had never heard of. His mumbling ceased as he drifted off to sleep.

  Ertemis studied the man’s disfigured hands and face, the hardened mass of burn scars. He shook his head. Just like a human to be careless with fire.

  He added a few branches to the fire, then rummaged in his pack for cheese and bread. Haemus coughed in his sleep, wheezing.

  Ertemis stared into the fire as he ate. Part of him wanted to ignore the man’s request, take the money, and continue on to Drust. He cursed under his breath. A dying man’s request was not something to be denied. He would deliver the key.

  Haemus said his daughter was alone, so she must be unmarried. With the dowry a merchant could provide the girl must be either truly homely or a bitter shrew not to be married off.

  Maybe both. Definitely well fed and spoiled. Although obviously not high born, Haemus wore fabrics as rich as those draping the nobles who oft hired the Legion’s men to fight their battles. Haemus must have a lavish home, no doubt with servants. The girl had probably never lifted a hand on her own behalf.

  Tell her it ain’t her fault sh
e is the way she is. Ertemis grimaced as he pictured a plump, overdressed twit wailing about her father’s passing while showing her revulsion for the halfling who’d brought her the news. She would look at him with the same distain most women did.

  She would anguish over who’d supply her next meal or trinket. Or she’d worry that the lowborn creature before her might desire her favors. He snorted. Not blasted likely.

  The absurd idea of this arrogant brat imagining he wanted to lay her bones amused him. He flicked a rind of cheese into the flames. His mixed blood might repulse most decent women, but to the wanton few, his fey half made him a highly desirable bedmate. He hadn’t bothered in a long time, but finding companionship when the mood struck presented little problem. He closed his eyes and almost forgot the sick human sharing the circle of firelight as sleep overcame him.

  Awake before firstlight, Ertemis knew without opening his eyes that Haemus lay cold. He heard nothing but the sounds of the world rising around him. No coughing, no wheezing breaths, no other heartbeat broke the morning calm but his, Dragon’s, and Petal’s.

  Low-spirited by such needless death, he chose a spot and used the dagger in his boot to dig a slim trench in the hard ground. He wrapped Haemus in the thin saddle blanket and placed the body in the swale. He piled stones over the site over then murmured a prayer in his mother’s native tongue.

  As Haemus had promised, there was money in his pack. Ertemis found five heavy sacks of coin in the bottom. No wonder Haemus had wanted a little traveling protection. Two sacks of gold and three of silver, almost enough to buy his freedom. He weighed the sacks in his hand. With what he already had, maybe exactly enough. The girl wouldn’t know how much money her father was carrying.

  He tied Petal’s leads to a cinch on Dragon’s tack, and set off straight toward Callaoja River. He was unsure how far up river Callao lake was, but the sooner he handed over the key to whatever spoiled brat Haemus had fathered, the sooner he could buy his life back. He smiled, the promise of freedom sweet on his lips.

  * * *

  Jessalyne didn’t regret the late night spent with Corah in front of the fire, even as firstlight woke her. She stretched and listened to the birdsong outside her window. Last night she’d slept without a single nightscare. Was that a sign her decision to leave was the right one or a sign she should stay? She didn’t know.

  She also didn’t know what the day would bring. Would the cervidae treat her differently now that her magic had worked some good? If they did, her desire to leave might fade. Her head swirled as she dressed in a pale blue silk tunic, so weightless it was like wrapping herself in sky. She added a simple bleached linen overvest.

  In front of a reflection glass, she brushed her hair until it shone and left it loose, save two small braids at her temples tied with silk ribbon in a matching shade of blue.

  The remainder of Corah’s bread went into a linen square. Jessalyne took a basket from a hook in the low kitchen ceiling and knotted the free ends of the linen around the handle.

  In the grove beyond her garden she picked fragrant stonefruit until her basket overflowed. Their sweet scent wafted thick in the gentle breeze, and she couldn’t resist biting into one as she walked to the lake. A drop of juice rolled down her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Perhaps the grove was the most perfect place in all of Shaldar.

  The entire cervidae herd had gathered at the lake, all of them in human form.

  Orit approached first. “I made this for you, Lady Jessalyne.” He held out a circle of yellow starflowers.

  “Thank you.” Jessalyne accepted the garland with a smile. She draped his handiwork around her neck. “I love it.”

  There were all sorts of games: tag, hide and seek, foot races, jumping toad. The children and adults alike skipped stones across the lake’s placid surface.

  Blankets spread on the ground held a multitude of goodies. Jars of sticky fruit preserves sat next to seeded breads. There were honey cakes scented with lavender, savory vegetable cakes, piles of stonefruit, purple and gold grapes, seedberries, apples and lily root. Pitchers of alderberry wine and spring ale passed from group to group. Laughter and singing echoed around the sheltered lakeside, accompanied by the lilting sounds of wooden flutes.

  By afternoon, the children reverted to fawns and nestled against their mothers, napping in the drowsy warmth of the midday sun.

  Jessalyne sat with Corah and Dauphine. Orit dreamed at his mother’s side. The woman chatted about nothing and everything. The day slipped peacefully by. More and more, the idea of leaving melted away. She could live this peaceable life after all.

  Then Corah and Dauphine went silent, their eyes rounding. They stared over her shoulder. Other heads turned. The entire herd went still.

  She turned as well. She furrowed her brow, not believing her eyes.

  A donkey with a flower-shaped marking around its right eye plodded toward them along the river. Her father’s donkey had a marking like that. Petal. But it was what followed the jenny that had undoubtedly drawn the crowd’s attention. A huge warhorse carrying a dark figure.

  As Petal came closer, Jessalyne stood for a better look at the figure on the horse. Definitely not her father. Whoever it was, he was slumped over the horse’s neck like a dead man.

  “Dark elf.” Tyber whispered the words uneasily.

  “What?” She swung around to look at Tyber. “What does that mean?”

  “You remember the council of elves that came for Orit’s naming ceremony?” He spoke without taking his eyes off the creature.

  She tipped her head toward the dark skinned, ebony-haired man coming ever closer with Petal’s guiding. “Yes, but they looked nothing like that.” The elves she recalled glimmered with light and magic; elegant, graceful beings closer to her own fair coloring than any other creature she’d seen before.

  Jessalyne eyed the dark elf once again.

  Tyber continued. “They were high-born elves, light elves, fully imbued with the magic of old Shaldar. This one is a mixed-breed, a mud blood, a halfling. By any name dark elves are dangerous creatures with tempers as black as their skins. They have their own magic, but few survive birth when the midwives do their jobs properly. Neither elf nor human claim them, and for good reason. They are trouble in the flesh.” Tyber spat on the ground.

  Petal stopped just paces from where the herd stood watching and bent to drink from the river. The warhorse came along side, putting the dark elf in plain sight. Jessalyne stared. The parts of him not covered by cloak or battle leathers revealed broad curves of thick muscle. His smooth, luminous skin was the deep charcoal grey of iris root dye, but with the subtle glistening sheen of oil on water. She wanted to touch him to see if the color would rub off on her fingers. The thought of it made something quicken inside her.

  Black as a starless night and partially tied back with a leather thong, his long hair hung over one shoulder, exposing his most telling feature: his ears. Angled skyward, they were undeniably elven and covered with strange silver runes.

  Even unconscious, he was intimidating.

  Her mouth hung open. She closed it. “I don’t think he’s well.”

  Tyber snorted. “Lady Jessalyne, I know your heart on this already. But no good can come of helping this creature. It’s best to let nature do what the midwives did not.”

  She faced the alpha buck. “I am a healer. I cannot dismiss the sick so easily. Beside, I need to know why he has my father’s animal.” She tossed her hair back and walked toward Petal.

  “Lady Jessalyne...”

  She kept walking.

  Tyber muttered something she couldn’t hear.

  At Petal’s side, she stopped and gazed at the strange horse and rider. She swallowed hard. They seemed much bigger up close. She made eye contact with the slate-colored warhorse. The animal snuffled softly.

  “I mean your master no harm,” she told the horse. There was a tremor in her voice she didn’t recognize.

  Sweat dampened the dark
elf’s hair. She reached out and rested her fingertips on his forearm, unwilling to touch his face. His skin blazed with fever. He moaned, and she jumped, snatching her hand away. Tyber and his men started forward.

  “I’m fine. He is not. He burns with fever.” She grabbed at the horse’s reins expecting protest, but the horse dipped his head lower, giving her a better grip on the leather.

  “I’ll lead them to the cottage, but I’ll need assistance getting him off his mount and inside. I also need Corah’s help making enough antidote. Whatever sickness this is, the herd must be protected.”

  Tyber opened his mouth to argue, but Jessalyne raised a hand to cut him off. “Then don’t help. I’ll do it on my own. I need to know why the elf has my father’s animal.”

  Setting his jaw, Tyber grudgingly agreed. “Territt, Willem, go with Lady Jessalyne. Help her with this...creature. Confiscate his weapons, then stand watch outside her cottage. Corah may go to help with the antidote.”

  Jessalyne led the big gray while Corah walked next to her with Petal. The guards stayed on either side of the warhorse. Despite Corah’s attempts to disguise her glances, Jessalyne noticed the girl’s attention to the dark elf.

  “Just take a good look and be done with it, will you? I doubt he’ll notice you staring in his current condition.”

  Corah shook her head, but her gaze danced over the elf. “I’ve never seen anything...anyone...any elf, whatever he is, like him.” She smiled at Jessalyne. “I dare say you have either.”

  Jessalyne returned the smile. “I haven’t. That’s a sure thing.” Life in the grove had shown her very little.

  She directed the guards to carry her newest patient into the room so recently occupied by Orit. The boy hadn’t taken up quite so much of the bed.

  After asking twice, Jessalyne got Corah into the kitchen to boil water. She then asked the guards to take the animals to the old stable. One task remained, one she’d have to do herself.