Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One)

by Dan Avera

  “Ah, yes,” Serah breathed—and then she actually chuckled. “After the Great Fall, two wished to take the name 'Agony.' It is not surprising that the stronger of the two killed the weaker—we do, after all, call them the traitors for a reason. They are not known for their tolerance or their kindness.” She smirked. “Unfortunately, with each one that dies, those who remain become stronger. They can easily duel a Titan with an even chance of success. Except, of course, for Koutoum.” She grinned at Will. “They were never able to beat Davin or Talyn in battle, especially when the two were together.”

  “And what about the new Phoenix Empress?” Will asked after a moment of hesitation. “If I'm really what you say, shouldn't there be somebody else you're looking for as well?”

  “I...” Serah faltered. “There is. But I...cannot see her.”

  “...What?” Will gaped, astounded. “What do you mean you can't see her?”

  Though dark and unreadable, Will thought he detected in Serah's eyes a hint of...what was that? Uncertainty? Revelation? He could not be sure. “I mean that she is blocked from my windsight,” Serah said. “As I told you before: where the wind blows, I can see. But I cannot see her, just as I could not see the yaru, or you, or...” She trailed off and left her sentence unfinished. A moment later she shook herself as though ridding her mind of an annoying thought. When next she spoke she closed her eyes, her face a mask of concentration. “I cannot feel even the slightest emanation of her aura. I can always feel my brothers and sisters, even if only as a faint tickle in the back of my mind, but in place of the Phoenix Empress there is...nothing. I felt your outburst in Brightstone. I should have been able to feel something from her by now. It is...most troubling.”

  “Well, we have to find her,” Will said suddenly. “I mean, it's rather important, isn't it? We don't want the traitors to get to her again, right?”

  “Yes,” Serah mused, “but an idea has occurred to me recently. It may be that she did not come back at all. Koutoum may have thrust his entire soul into you, Will.” She stared at him. “The thought frightens me beyond measure. Of course, it could also be that this is some trickery from the traitors, or even that Talyn masked her half of the soul before sending it back to the realm of the living.” She shrugged, suddenly looking very old. “I do not know, unfortunately. This riddle is maddening. If only I could find its answer...”

  An idea suddenly occurred to Will. “Would...would I know? If I met her, I mean—would I know who she was?”

  Serah looked at him thoughtfully, but did not respond.

  “You said she was the other half of my soul, after all. It would make sense that I would at least feel something, right?”

  “Yes,” Serah assented, “you would. In theory, at least. It would feel like you are complete. That was how Davin always described it to me.” She smiled softly at the memory. “When he was with her, he felt whole, and when he was away, it was like he had been ripped in two. They loved each other very much.”

  But Will barely heard her. An image of Clare flashed to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly he found it very difficult to breathe. Could it be? Was she the one? It felt so wonderful to be around her, so beautiful. She made him feel...

  Whole.

  “Is something wrong, Will?” Feothon asked, looking at him pointedly.

  “No—no, I'm fine.” Will shook his head. Then, another thought occurred to him. “Would she have awakened at the same time as me?”

  “Not necessarily,” Serah said. “We all awaken at different times in our lives. It really is more a matter of necessity than of anything else. For that reason we cannot predict when a new Titan will awaken. It makes collecting them somewhat nerve-wracking.”

  “How so?”

  “Close your eyes, Will,” said Feothon, and he obeyed. “Tell me what you see.”

  “I don't see anyth—wait.” He paused. “I see...green. And grey. Two big clouds. They're swirling...like mist.” He opened his eyes again and realization dawned on him. “I'm seeing you, aren't I?”

  Feothon nodded. “Our auras. 'Tis how we are able to find one another. 'Tis also how both Serah and Pestilence were able to find you so easily. An aura is essentially a physical manifestation of the energy that constantly bleeds from us. Human bodies were never meant to house the souls of the Titans. The power inside us is difficult to contain.”

  “Do we ever run out?”

  Feothon chuckled. “No. The Titans get their power directly from the Void, which is unending. Our power will never run out, so long as the Void continues to exist. But back to your original question—before we awaken, our auras are much, much weaker. So weak, in fact, that they are almost undetectable. Yours, of course, in its unawakened state was very much like ours are now. You should see yourself through our eyes—when I close mine, 'tis like staring into a bonfire. But you can see how this presents a problem for the other Titans—when their auras are so weak that we cannot detect them, they run the risk of an untimely death. So when a Titan awakens 'tis always a mad dash to get to him or her before anything...unpleasant does.”

  Will nodded. “That makes sense.” He looked from Serah to Feothon, and back again. “So I take it you weren't the same age as me when you awakened, then?”

  “I was seventeen,” said Serah.

  “Nine,” said Feothon. He smiled softly and winked. “So you see, I have never had the chance to lead a normal life.”

  Will shook his head slowly. “Then why am I just now awakening?” he wondered aloud. “It doesn't make sense. I've been on the battlefield for twenty years. I could have died at any moment. So why now?”

  “I've no idea, Will,” Feothon said. “Perhaps there was a plan for you all along. Perhaps this has all been part of some elaborate scheme to keep the traitors away from you until you were ready.” He gestured vaguely at Will. “If that is the case, it certainly worked. Before she left to find you, Serah told me of your skill with a sword. I should very much like to watch a performance first-hand sometime.”

  Will huffed a small laugh. “Be careful what you wish for. It looks like you may get to see one sooner rather than later.”

  Feothon smiled, but said nothing.

  When the silence had stretched to uncomfortable lengths, Will said, “So...how long will it be until Clare is better?”

  “Her injuries are very grave,” Feothon said, but his tone was thoughtful rather than somber. “I would say roughly three days. If she is not awake by then, she soon will be.”

  Will nodded. “Alright. So it's going to be awhile.”

  Feothon laughed. “Will, you must relax. The only person in pain right now is you. She is going to be fine.” Will did not see it, but a knowing look passed briefly between Feothon and Serah. Serah raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded toward Will, but Feothon gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  “So do all the Belahan...er, Fallen look like Pestilence?” Will asked, changing the subject abruptly, and the sudden switch seemed to take both Feothon and Serah aback.

  “I...no, they do not,” Serah said. “At least, they did not used to. I cannot imagine they do now. Pestilence had changed much since last I saw him, so I honestly do not know what the others will look like.” She stopped suddenly, a thoughtful expression drifting across her features. “The implications of that are...disturbing. They could look like anyone.” She turned to Feothon. “When Will first encountered Pestilence, he had taken the form of a small boy, and later a massive yaru. When I saw him in Prado he was dressed all in black robes.”

  “He looked like the Harbinger,” Will said. When both Titans gave him blank stares he cocked an eyebrow. “You people really have been out of contact, haven't you?”

  “I am afraid so,” Feothon said slowly. “Especially with your Lower Kingdoms. They are rather inhospitable places for anyone not from the South or the West.”

  “Ah. Well, the Harbinger. He's Gefan's polar opposite. I thought Pestilence's appearance came from the Harbinger, but now I t
hink it may have been the other way around.”

  “Ah, yes,” Serah said. “Gefan. The god that everyone bows to now.”

  “A single god?” Feothon asked, cocking an eyebrow. “They truly believe that? How would one god be able to get anything done? 'Tis a ridiculous notion if ever I heard one.” He began to laugh.

  “It's what people believe in,” Will said with a shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The Titans had left the world to its own devices; who were they to laugh at the shortcomings of humanity? “And besides, the Clergy is so powerful that nobody wants to try to oppose them. People are afraid of death here and of a terrible afterlife to follow.”

  Feothon bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I stand chastised.”

  “You're here now, though, right? We can show people the right path.” Will's words sounded almost hopeful.

  “If people choose to listen,” Serah said quietly. “It is often difficult to find an ear to preach to. Ainos, Karkash, the Hinterlands—we tried countless times to bring them back under our sway, but they would not have it. Why, look how much it took to convince you.”

  “Do you think that has something to do with Keth?” Will asked hesitantly. “Could he be influencing them from afar?”

  A look passed between Feothon and Serah. “We have often discussed the same thing, Will,” Feothon answered, and his voice sounded suddenly very tired. “But I do not think so. Keth's intention was never to cause pain and suffering; those things were the byproducts of a hasty decision made without proper forethought.”

  “But he made all those terrible things...”

  “He is insane,” Serah said. “His mind has been taken over by something that calls itself the Dark One. It was under the Dark One's influence that he breathed life into his children.”

  “But that's still him,” Will argued. “Even if he's going under a different name, they're still his choices.”

  “If every night you woke up and murdered someone, but you'd no recollection of doing so, could you be held responsible for your actions?” Feothon cocked his head and gave him an unreadable look.

  “Well...I...” Will looked away, thinking. “I'm not sure.”

  Again, they lapsed into silence. For his part, Will's thoughts were a swirling vortex of unsettling ideas. He had never believed in Gefan—how could he, when the supposedly merciful god had never granted mercy to those who obviously needed it? How could he when a little girl's father had been beaten so brutally by the Clergy's men that he could not stand, and it took a mercenary's kindness to make him well again?

  But when the Titans had entered his life, the world's madness and shortcomings had suddenly seemed to make sense. There was an evil god who had created all of the world's nightmares. He was responsible for everything—only the Titans apparently thought he wasn't. But all of the stories went differently—weren't they supposed to be enemies? Can a blacksmith be held responsible when his weapons are used to kill? Will wondered. Well, of course he can...that's what he made them for. But...what about the metallurgist? If all he does is sell the metal to the blacksmith, thinking they'll be used to make farming tools...

  Will shook his head, which suddenly ached. Assigning blame was not the important thing right now—Clare and the Fallen were.

  But still...the idea that humanity, and not some divine spirit, was responsible for its own problems...that was unsettling. In the short time between awakening and entering the Dark Forest, he had been growing used to the idea that violence and death could be blamed on something else—that his own bloodlust was, perhaps, Koutoum's, and not his own. But the Titans did not seem to agree. They were only the metallurgists, he thought. Humanity are the blacksmiths.

  “You've a troubled look to you, Will,” Feothon said softly.

  “It's just...it's a lot to take in.” He ran his fingers through his hair and breathed a sigh.

  “It is,” said Serah. “Take your time. Realizing that you are an immortal god is a heavy weight, yes?” She smiled softly. “I know—I have been in your position.”

  Will smiled back. What has my life come to? he wondered. Have I just gone completely mad? Or did I die, and this is the space between?

  “I have sent word to Leyra and Borbos,” Serah said to Feothon. “They should arrive in a matter of days.”

  “Who are they?” Will asked.

  “Leyra,” Feothon explained, “is the Lady of the Mountain. Borbos is the Lord of the Sea. Except for the Phoenix Empress, they are the final two Titans.” He smiled warmly. “Undoubtedly they will wish to meet their new brother. Borbos was especially fond of Davin and Talyn.”

  Will cocked an eyebrow. “But not...the other one? Leyra, was it?”

  “She never met them,” Serah said. “Renne was the last Lady of the Mountain. She died during the Great Fall, and it was only several years after Davin killed himself that Leyra was reincarnated.”

  “Ah,” said Will. “That was another thing I was wondering about—why did it take so long for me to come back? Five hundred years...that seems a little bit ridiculous, doesn't it?”

  Feothon gave him a look that said he felt very much the same way. “Think about how 'tas been for us,” he said with a sigh. “To my knowledge, none of us have ever taken so long to come back. I do not understand it. 'Tis usually a matter of months or years. We are the guardians of life—the world needs us.”

  An idea suddenly formed in Will's head. “Could...could it have something to do with the Fallen?” he asked. “I mean, they were obviously powerful enough to take control of Talyn's soul, right? So I wouldn't be surprised if they were also able to stop us from being reborn.”

  “A valid point,” Serah said. “The thought has crossed my mind before. With half of Keth's soul under their control, meddling with the affairs of life and death would certainly be within their reach, yes?”

  Feothon popped another grape into his mouth and chewed slowly. The sound of his teeth squelching the fleshy fruit permeated the otherwise silent and contemplative atmosphere. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I believe everyone has had quite an...eventful day.” He looked at Serah with a smile. “Would you agree?”

  Serah nodded and her fingers went to the ragged hole in her armor.

  “You both deserve some rest,” Feothon continued. “The Dark Forest will be your home; nothing will hurt you here unless you provoke it through an act of stupidity.” He winked. “Anywhere you wish, you may sleep.”

  “Thank you,” said Will, moving to his feet. He stretched, realizing suddenly that all of his muscles had cramped. How long had they been there talking? “I think I'll go sleep next to Clare,” he murmured. “Just...you know. To make sure she's alright.”

  Feothon smiled but said nothing. After Will had gone, he shared another knowing look with Serah. No words passed between them; none were needed. Soon Feothon left as well, and only Serah remained. She stayed sitting on the ground for a very long time, never once moving, never once making a sound.

  Twelve

  Dinn was the first, as she was in everything. From the towering mountains and the barren earth she fashioned herself a body as strong and enduring as stone. The earth is old, a remnant of an age before time; it will persist long after the last Titan is dead forever, and it was from this timeless quality that Dinn drew the ability to see far into the past, present, and future.

  Beros was next, and he shaped his body from the shifting seas. Water was as much a part of him as his own soul, and his human form was an avatar of the sea as well as a vessel for his power. Like the sea he was ever-changing, and like the sea his fury knew no bounds.

  Sorr was the third, and she was born from the calm of a summer breeze and the rage of a hurricane. Like the weather her temper waxed and waned with the slightest provocation, and where the winds blew she was able to see.

  Forod then drew from all the living things in the world, and in human form his command over life was unequaled. Men mortally wounded in battle rose when he willed it, renewed and ready
to fight again, and the creatures and plants of the world rallied to his call.

  But when it came time for Koutoum to descend, the Titan hesitated. His brothers and sisters looked to him expectantly, awaiting his arrival. They knew they could not defeat the deranged Dark One without him, and yet still he tarried at the edge of the mortal realm.

  “Koutoum,” Forod called to him. “Join us.”

  Koutoum looked down on his brothers and sisters, and then at the chaos that had befallen their world. Finally, he turned his gaze to Keth, whom he could not bring himself to harm. And it was clear that he would not fight the Dark One.

  So the other Titans turned away and strode into battle without their greatest asset, and Koutoum wept as the world tore itself asunder.

  ~

  Pain.

  That was the first thing she felt—pure, biting, excruciating pain throughout her entire body. But it was gone in an instant.

  Fear.

  That came next, a natural reaction to the agony, and her eyes flew open and she sat up with a gasp. The blurred collage of shapes and colors that slowly greeted her began to solidify as her vision cleared, allowing her confusing glimpses of what appeared to be plants of all shapes and sizes. Plants? Why are there so many?

  Without warning she felt something large and heavy collide with her, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs, and then a pair of muscular arms wrapped her in a bear hug. Freshly frightened by her unseen attacker, she struggled briefly only to pause when a familiar voice cried, “You're awake!”

  “Will?” she asked weakly, her voice a coarse wheeze, and a white mass solidified in front of her. She realized it was his shoulder and reached up to touch him, her arm trembling. She felt strangely weak. “Where am I?”

  He held her out at arm's length and she saw that he was smiling with relief, which confused her. Had something happened? He looked different, too—his scars were gone, and he was wearing a white shirt rather than the red one she had grown used to. She noticed then that her own clothing felt different, and saw with some surprise that she had been garbed in someone else's. That was the only explanation she could think of; she did not, after all, own a grey shirt or deerskin breeches. Her boots were gone, too, leaving her feet bare.