Fireborn

by David Dalglish

  “Welcome to my home,” Aunt Bethy said, pushing through the crowd so she might greet her guest. “Thank you for bestowing such an honor upon me.”

  Johan turned to her, head tilted slightly.

  “This was no honor,” he said. His voice was deep, and it bore an accent Bree could not place. Its presence only added mystery and exoticness to the already imposing man. “By bringing me into your home, you risk imprisonment and execution. It is you I should thank, Bethy Skyborn. People like you, and the rest of you here tonight, are the reason I feel hope in my heart when I speak my message. People like you, willing to risk everything to hear the truth in a world of lies, are why I believe our cause will echo across the future, forcing change upon those who fear it most.”

  Aunt Bethy looked ready to explode with pride. She blushed, curtsied clumsily. Bree rested her chin on her fist, eyes never leaving Johan’s. Back when she’d witnessed Thane dropping to his death in a well, she’d wondered how someone could be so convinced to die for what he believed in. She was starting to understand that now. When Johan had offered his thanks to her aunt, Bree had felt a spike of jealousy, along with an intense desire for that deep voice to offer gratitude her way as well. That need for approval, for attention, was so strong it frightened her. She’d never felt like this, not even in the presence of her childhood hero, Argus Summers.

  “I am sure you have questions,” Johan continued. He stood before the door, flanked on all sides by his disciples, as he addressed the inhabitants of the home. “All I desire is that you first let me speak, and see if my words give you your answer without need of asking.”

  No one would challenge him on this. No one appeared able to speak. Everyone waited to hear his words. Even Bree, if she were being honest with herself. Johan fully understood this, and he let his gaze linger, let his presence build, before he began.

  “I was once a theotech,” he said. “Considered special by many, but I did my best to work hard and remain humble. I studied, and I read, and I devoted myself to the teachings of prophets collected in the tomes that Center keeps hidden away in their massive libraries. I read, I learned, all under their tutelage, and I was praised for my diligence. But then I started asking questions.”

  He hesitated a moment, allowing time for his eyes to sweep the room. Bree swore his gaze lingered on her a fraction of a second longer than it did the others.

  “Questions,” he said. “If the Speaker shares the word of the angels, why can he offer no proof of his connection with the divine? If the Speaker is God’s chosen representative for humanity’s remnants, why is he elected by a gathering of the Erelim? Wouldn’t God’s chosen already know long beforehand? Wouldn’t the angels tell him of his destiny? Why were these tomes of the prophets hidden, and not distributed among the people? Why was God’s word for the elect, and the words of theotechs for the common man?”

  Another pause. His hands lifted to the sides of his hood.

  “Questions,” he said. “I asked questions. And for that, I received my reward.”

  Off came his hood, and a collective gasp sounded in the room. Bree’s chest tightened, and she gripped the arms of her chair instinctively. Johan was completely bald. Where hair should have been were a mess of scars, deep and varied. They crisscrossed like veins, seemingly beyond counting. Some moved in straight lines, others curling about, behind his ears, toward his eyes, only to jerk in a different direction. The thinner scars looked carved by a knife, while much larger, lighter patches bore the unmistakable mark of fire. The revelation made the scars on his cheeks seem less significant, and suddenly carry far more meaning.

  “Fire and blade,” Johan said, standing to his full height. He bore no shame of his mutilation. Instead it added fuel to his words, an edge to his tone. “They cut, and they burned, all to drive the heresy from my mind. I had my questions, and I tell you now, those long, aching years of torture gave me my answers. The theotechs did not serve God, but themselves. Those who fear questions are those who fear the truth, and the only truth that frightens the theotechs is that they built their power on lies and falsehoods. God is not with them. The Speaker is not a divine prophet. The only right he has to rule is the noose he holds around our necks.”

  Johan ran a hand over the scars, drawing attention there, as if any could have taken their eyes away.

  “I endured, deep in places I pray none of you ever set foot inside,” he said. “And one day, I convinced them of my newfound faith in the Speaker. Once free, I fled their watchful eye, fled Center, and started anew on Elern. It was there I met the first of my disciples, and began to preach my message to all with the bravery to listen. And there are brave people out there, so many brave people. Humanity yearns for God’s touch, yet you have been denied it by a system void of compassion and devotion, a system that seeks only to establish authority. Your heart matters not, so long as you bend the knee and profess obedience. You are babes suckling on an empty teat, broken dogs returning to abusive masters, orphans eating from an empty bowl. You will always feel hollow. You will always bear a hunger. If you would be sated, listen, and follow me.”

  Bree was at a loss as to what to believe. She’d never given much thought to the religious lessons they received growing up, nor Vyros’s lectures when he came to the academy from the Crystal Cathedral. She glanced to her brother. A look of concern was on his face, poorly hidden. Something troubled him greatly, and she wished she could cross the room and ask him what. It would have to wait. Too many people, and Johan was not yet done. Many looked ready to throw themselves at his feet, others stomping in place, fired up, righteous anger ready to burst from their every pore.

  “Some of you care not for what I say,” Johan said. His tone changed slightly. It no longer carried a faint hint of sadness and yearning. Now it was hard, definitive. She realized she recognized his tone from Adam Dohn, when the joyless man was about to lecture their class on a subject he held absolute authority in. “Leave the talk of God to the old and the young, you’d say. Then let me speak of something you cannot deny your involvement in: your own slavery.” He let the word echo in the room. “Slaves, each and every one of you. Your islands, Elern and Weshern and Candren and Sothren, all one and the same in this regard. Your independence is a lie. Your nations are puppets whose purpose is fast fading. Are you blind to the invasion happening underneath your very nose? Do you not see the golden wings flying overhead, see the red robes of your oppressors walking the streets? Center thrives on the goods we deliver, but their payment of elements in return is too dangerous for them to continue. Soon we will give not in trade, but in tribute to protect us from the sword hanging over our necks.”

  Bree thought of the wave after wave of soldiers flying over on platforms as the Speaker, Marius Prakt, declared their Archon and his wife to be imprisoned, and Weshern’s rule to be handed over to the theotechs of Center. No warning. No trial. Not even an explanation offered or a scrap of proof given as to how Weshern was responsible for Galen’s fall. In light of such events, it was hard to find any fault in Johan’s claims.

  “Questions,” the scarred man said. “They strip away the power of secrets. If we are to have freedom, the secrets of the Beam must be handed over, the safety and power of each island belonging only to the island’s people. If we are to have independence, the secrets of the elements must be made public, with each nation able to defend itself with its own resources instead of those bartered from a theocracy seeking domination. Center brands me heretical, but I ask you, can the truth ever be heresy? Only to cowards. Only to the afraid.”

  Johan drew a knife tucked into his belt, and he held the naked blade before him.

  “And they are afraid, for I know the truth. I know who sent Galen tumbling to the ocean, slaughtering thousands upon thousands. It’s the only one who benefits. The only one vile enough to do it. Center destroyed Galen.”

  His words were thunder shaking the cramped room. It was an idea that had flitted around the back of Bree’s mind, never fully
voiced. It was too awful to believe. Too frightening. But the moment Johan spoke the accusation, Bree knew she believed it, knew that many others in that room believed the same.

  “Center bears the guilt,” Johan continued, voice booming. “No one else may investigate. No one else knows how the Beams keep our islands afloat...nor does anyone know how to disable them. Only the theotechs. Only Marius Prakt. The Speaker, so fearful of losing his power over the minor islands, would destroy one of you so he might have reason to enslave the rest. Do you not see it? Do you not feel it in your hearts while he casts blame on your people?”

  Johan slammed a fist against the wall, punctuating his words.

  “And that is why we must rise up,” he said. “I know the demands your burgeoning resistance have given Marius, but do you think such simple measures are enough? Freedom for your royal family, and a promise of independence? A promise, from the man who sent Galen crashing to the Endless Ocean? I ask not for such infantile desires. What does freeing an Archon accomplish if his island crumbles into ruin? There is no greater cause than this, people of Weshern. No stakes are higher. Freedom is bought in blood, and we are many, and we are willing to pay. Center will banish my name, and cry out against my words, but we are the truth armed with a blade, and we will not be beaten. Center’s strength is hollow glass. A single crack, and it all shatters. What I ask you”—a hesitation, just quick enough so each there believed themselves specifically addressed—“is this...are you willing to take up arms in defense of your family, your nation, and your God? Because the time has come. Your resistance seeks peace, and a return to the old. But the old is gone, and war comes on golden wings. Is that not right, Phoenix?”

  Bree froze in her chair. All eyes were upon her now, and she wished she could slink away and hide.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, having to clear her throat to talk.

  Johan stepped closer. She felt like a hen stalked by a wolf.

  “Phoenix of Weshern, hero of her first two battles against Galen,” he said. “Resistance blossoms against Center’s takeover, and even fools know the value of bringing you into the fold.” Johan knelt so he was eye level with her in her chair. Bree struggled to meet his gaze, and to ignore the web of scars across his head. “They’ve come to you, haven’t they? You’ve spoken to their leaders, seen what they’re building?”

  Everyone inside Bethy’s home was risking their lives by listening to Johan’s words. Who there would turn her in to the theotechs? Besides, what she admitted was only what the theotechs would already assume.

  “Yes,” she said. “I have.”

  Murmurs throughout the home. Johan grinned wide, and with a sudden jolt of energy he rushed to the door. Two of his disciples parted, granting him access to the enormous chest they’d carried inside.

  “Then I ask that you bring them a gift,” he said, removing the lock. Bree stood as he lifted the lid so she might see within. Its contents dropped her jaw. Stacked tightly against one another, filling the chest from top to bottom, were elements of every type.

  That’s more than we recovered from the wagons, Bree thought. And they didn’t have to lose a single Seraph in battle to obtain it. Johan stood over the chest, his grin ear to ear. He clearly knew what a treasure his gift was. Pulling the hood back over his head, he returned to Bree. His voice lowered, seemingly just for her.

  “We’ve been preparing for this for many years,” he said. “My men have spread throughout all the islands, even Center. This web, this amassing of power and information, I have carefully built in preparation for the inevitable. All I ask is that the leaders of your resistance open their eyes to the truth. Your island will never be free without the bloodshed of war. Accept this. Use these elements to wage a true rebellion against Center. Be a spark, and I will ensure a fire blazes throughout every single island, of such size and scope the corruption of the old will burn away into something glorious and new.”

  He gestured to the chest of elements.

  “A spark,” he said. “All I seek is a spark.”

  Bree swallowed, eyes flicking to the elements in the chest. He offers us war, she thought. That’s what that chest is, everything we need to wage open warfare.

  Galen’s fall flashed before her eyes. The sound of its striking the ocean hammered in her ears. If the Speaker was responsible, then her choice was no choice at all.

  “I will inform Argus of your gift,” she said to Johan. “And I believe he will accept any aid you and your movement may provide.”

  Johan clapped his hands, clutching them together tightly.

  “Excellent,” he said, nodding to the disciple at his right. “Most excellent.”

  The disciple pulled a bundle of papers out from a deep pocket of his robe, and he began weaving through the home, passing out single sheets to whoever would accept it, which was nearly everyone.

  “Read over my demands,” Johan said as the disciple worked. “Learn my arguments, and spread this wisdom to any who listen. If you are here, then you came invited, and I assure you we know your names, and will come for you again once the fires of rebellion spread throughout the islands. Once war truly begins. Pray when it does, you have done all that you can to prepare.”

  A disciple opened the door, and after a moment to check, waved it clear. Johan bowed to them all, and then as quickly as he appeared he vanished out the door, hood pulled over his head to hide the scars. The remaining disciples filed out after him, and with their leaving, the murmur of conversation immediately resumed. Bree stood before the chest, entranced. For Johan to hand over so much, with barely a request made in return, spoke volumes about his trust in Weshern’s rebellion. The hum of voices drifted over her, growing louder until Aunt Bethy shouted over the din.

  “Go on home, everyone,” Aunt Bethy ordered. “We all have a lot to think on, and truth be told, my house is a mess as it is without you all wrecking it further.”

  A few laughed politely, others tipped their heads. The men and women filed out in groups, each taking care to scan the skies first. Every time Bree saw that effort at safety it made her feel sick. That they must fear for their lives when in their own home, peacefully meeting other fellow citizens of Weshern...it was wrong, so very wrong.

  Soon they were gone, and Aunt Bethy let out a long sigh as she scanned the disaster the visitors had made of her kitchen. Only Clara remained, and she and Kael both rose from their seat upon the bottom step of the stairs.

  “I need to get back before anyone starts to worry,” Clara said, and she kissed Kael on the cheek.

  “Stay safe,” Kael said. Despite the red midnight glow, Bree could tell he was blushing. Clara dipped her head in respect to Aunt Bethy, then smiled at Bree.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said. “Try to swing by with Kael sometime, all right? It’s lonely up at the mansion.”

  “I might,” Bree said, doubting she ever would. The Phoenix visiting the home of the deposed rulers of Weshern? That would attract attention she couldn’t afford, assuming they let her in at all.

  Clara opened the door, waved good-bye, and then vanished. As the door shut behind her, Bree sank into her chair, relieved to be off her feet. Her legs felt wooden. She could barely take her eyes off the chest by the door. A veritable fortune, worth more to the rebellion than any amount of coin, just sitting there.

  “We have to get that to Argus,” she said.

  “Tomorrow,” Aunt Bethy said before Kael could answer. “It’s late, and the both of you look like you’ve had some long days. Get some rest. The elements will be waiting for you come the morning.”

  “All right,” Kael said, acquiescing. “Sleep doesn’t sound so bad right now anyway.”

  He started up the stairs, but Bree refused to move. Bethy shut the curtains one by one, darkening the room until only a faint red glow shone throughout.

  “The chair’s fine for now,” she said when Bethy headed toward her own bedroom. “It’s better than the cot I slept in last night, anyway.”<
br />
  Her aunt paused as if to argue but then relented.

  “Good night, Bree,” she said, vanishing behind the thick curtain blocking off her room from the kitchen. Bree gently rocked the chair, staring at the chest of elements. Her hands flexed against the armrests, imagining her sword hilts firmly grasped between her fingers.

  A spark, she thought, Johan’s words echoing in her mind, joined by those of Argus Summers.

  That’s what you can be to us, Bree. You can be that hope.

  Bree did not sleep well, nor for long, and when she did she dreamed of battle, of blood dripping from her bleeding palms, each scarlet drop wreathed in flame.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Kael awoke with the skies still red, a faint crimson flickering before it died off into the morning mist. The light shone through his window, which was wide open. Bree stood over him, and before he could say a word, she dumped a pair of pants and a shirt onto his lap.

  “I’m heading downstairs,” she said. “Get dressed. We need to talk.”

  Kael pulled his pillow over his face.

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?” he asked as Bree descended the steps.

  “Probably not.”

  He flung his blanket aside and grabbed the shirt, holding it with one hand as he rubbed at his eyes with the other.

  Well, at least she’s honest, he thought.

  Once he was dressed, Kael stumbled down the steps and into the kitchen. Bree sat in a chair waiting for him, chin resting on her palm. Her eyes flicked over him, and her dour mood momentarily brightened.

  “Your hair’s amazing,” she said.

  Kael ran his hand through it, felt one half sticking straight up from sleeping on his side.