On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  He paced inside the little hut. Its familiar scents and decorations sang to him of the time when Kevla had first come through that door and he had taught her how to play Shamizan. He had the board and pieces now, just in case they had time for a game. He held it with hands that were sweaty, and he was aware that his heart was racing.

  Was this how it was with other brothers and sisters? This sharp, almost painful pleasure? This anticipation that made one nervous and elated, made one’s throat dry and one’s palms moist? He could only guess. Perhaps the fact that he was forbidden Kevla’s company made their time together sweeter, but he could not imagine a moment when he would not be delighted to see her.

  For the hundredth time, he peered out the window. This time he saw her, and his heart surged. She was coming up the little hill at a quick pace, not daring to run lest she draw undue attention. She carried a small scythe in one hand and a basket in the other.

  Gathering herbs was the excuse today, then. They must make sure she did not forget.

  She pushed open the door and then closed it. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I encountered no one,” she said in answer to his unasked question.

  “We should still keep away from the windows,” Jashemi said, placing a hand on her back and leading her to the center of the room. He gazed fondly down at her. She was wearing an older rhia today, one that did not fit her well, and as he stood close to her, still touching her back, his eyes traveled down her throat to her breasts. He was suddenly, sharply aware of the headiness of her scent, of the curve of her body beneath his hand, of his instinctive masculine response.

  His fingers tightened against her back as heat flooded him, a fierce combination of desire and shame. Quickly, he stepped away, hoping she was unaware of what had just happened. Her own face was flushed and her eyes bright. She too seemed uncomfortable suddenly, and looked away quickly. She didn’t know what Jashemi knew, of course. She only knew that she was a servant, and he the heir to a mighty Clan.

  To end the awkwardness, Jashemi rumpled her hair as he had done when she was younger. She giggled, and when she looked up at him, it was with the old affection.

  Good. Very good.

  “You are to harvest herbs,” Jashemi said, indicating her tools. “It should not take long. Do you have time for a game of Shamizan?”

  “I always have time to win against you,” she replied with an engaging smirk.

  He grinned back. All was well between them, again.

  As always, time with Kevla, however brief, buoyed Jashemi. But when he ran lightly up the stairs to his room, he overheard something that bled delight out of him. His parents, their voices raised in argument.

  He had known for many years that his parents were bound by law and clan tradition, but not by love. He had accepted that, and the older he grew, the more he saw that such was the norm. But ever since Yeshi’s second child had been born so ominously marked, there had been a gulf between the khashima and her family. There were few arguments between her and Jashemi for the simple reason that they barely spoke. But khashim and khashima could not indulge in such an easy solution, and over the years, the strife had escalated.

  Unaware that he did so, Jashemi ducked his head, as if trying to pull his ears into his body so that he could not hear. His shoulders hunched and he quickened his pace. He could not understand the words, but he did not need to. The tone, especially his mother’s, was sufficient.

  The sick discomfort turned to anger. His time with Kevla was so rare and so precious, and all the joy it had brought him had been chased away by those sharp, raised voices. He could think of nothing worse they could have done to him.

  Kevla, too, was not unaware of the growing tensions between the great lord and the great lady. Although she was no longer one of Yeshi’s handmaidens, servants gossiped, and sometimes her duties took her within hearing of Yeshi’s once-melodious, now-harsh voice. At such times, she made haste to finish whatever duty she had been charged with; to cross Yeshi’s path when she was speaking so would be to invite disaster. She thought back to her suspicions that Yeshi was taking lovers, and wondered if it were still so.

  It was a searingly hot morning as Kevla prepared a basket to take to Asha. The young healer preferred to have his meals delivered to him at daybreak and midday, joining the other servants only for the evening meal. She was heading out to his hut when she heard raised voices. Or rather, a raised voice—Yeshi’s. She ducked back into a corridor as the mistress of the household stormed past.

  “Foolish girl!” Kevla jumped at the sharp crack of palm striking flesh. “This stain will never come out!”

  “Yes, it will, great lady, if I have to scrub it until my fingers bleed.” Sharu, the little five-score, fear and pleading in her voice. Kevla felt a stab of pity for the girl.

  “As if blood on the cloth will make it better. You are clumsy and lazy. Your five years of service are over, why are you still here troubling me so! Go to Tahmu and get your last score and leave this house by nightfall.”

  A sharp intake of breath and a little sob. “Great lady, I beg you, give me a chance to—”

  “Another word from that ugly little mouth and I will have you beaten as well.”

  Silence. Quick, angry footsteps. A soft cry, a sniffle, and then slow, bare footsteps in the opposite direction.

  Although Sharu had been Yeshi’s spy and taken Kevla’s place, Kevla could not find it in her to resent the girl. She was just trying to survive. Kevla, who had danced on a street corner extolling the sexual skills of her own mother, could understand that. She had no idea what Sharu had done to so offend Yeshi, but expected that it was no great crime.

  Deep in thought, she made her way to Asha’s hut. She placed the basket of roasted fowl, bread and dates on a small stone, rapped on the door, and walked slowly back to the House. An idea was taking shape.

  That night, she sat alone in her small room. She had gathered some sandcattle cakes and even a few sticks, so that the fire would burn longer. She was nervous at what she was about to do, but resolute.

  She laid the fire in the small fireplace, and said quietly, “Burn.”

  Kevla was no longer startled or amazed by the fire that leaped into being at her verbal command. She stared into the fire, letting her vision soften around the edges. Faces and images started to form in the flame.

  “Show me Yeshi,” she whispered.

  At first, there was nothing. Then the flames shimmered and twisted, reforming into a familiar face.

  She had done it. She had ordered the flames to show her a specific person, and they had obeyed. She grinned a little, flushed with her achievement, then concentrated.

  There was another figure. Kevla blinked and rubbed at her eyes, striving to distinguish features. But the flame was not as exact as the eye, and as the two lovers embraced the image became blurred. She wondered if her little fire was too small. Perhaps if she had a larger fire, she could see more detail.

  But how would she do so? It was hard enough to have a fire in her room at all. She could try to see in the larger fires in the kitchen, but Yeshi would not be with her lover during those times.

  Kevla sighed and poured water on the small fire to extinguish it. She would simply have to keep trying.

  And so she did, every night for the next several nights. She was embarrassed at doing so, but she felt certain that it was important. The fire was limiting in that it only showed Kevla images that were directly in front of it. If Yeshi were in her bed, the fire would not show her. Only when Yeshi and her lover passed directly before the fireplace in the bedroom she shared with Tahmu did the flames reveal the two to Kevla, and that did not happen every time Kevla scried. And never did Yeshi’s lover obligingly turn to look fully into the fire. Kevla couldn’t even tell if she saw one man or many, only that she was certain none of them was Tahmu.

  About two weeks after she had begun her nightly observation, as she blushingly watched Yeshi and her lover entwined before their fireplace, Kevla realized s
he could understand words. That was something new—up until this point she could only see people in the fire, not hear them. She bent forward, her ears straining for anything of import. Her blushing increased as she realized that the two lovers were not speaking of anything Kevla needed to hear, only murmuring endearments and crude words. If only Yeshi would speak her lover’s name!

  Some nights, Yeshi slept alone. Sometimes, she accepted Tahmu’s caresses. On such nights, Kevla quickly ended her spying.

  More time passed. Still Kevla learned nothing useful, and she grew to find the activity extremely distasteful. But then, something happened while Tahmu was away that vindicated her gut instinct that Yeshi needed to be watched.

  The great lady and her lover were finished by the time Kevla sat down to observe. Kevla was grateful for that, even with the indistinct images the flame showed her. The man sat behind Yeshi and brushed her hair. Again, his face was too indistinct for Kevla to make out his features. He was bearded, of course; all the men wore beards save Tahmu and Jashemi. He was large and muscular, and Yeshi sometimes winced as he attended her. Kevla couldn’t help but think that if any of her handmaidens had pulled her hair so often, Yeshi would have had them beaten.

  “I like it when he is gone to a far corner of the land,” said Yeshi. “We can take our time.”

  The man planted a kiss on Yeshi’s naked shoulder. “It is still too short a time to lie with you, my beloved. A lifetime would be too short.”

  Kevla inhaled swiftly. She had heard that voice before, but where? She felt certain that she knew this man.

  Yeshi did not reply, only continued gazing into the fire. Her lover moved on to rubbing her neck. She sighed and leaned against him.

  “I can offer you no more than a lifetime,” she said, “but we will have at least that. Have you thought more on it?”

  Kevla was lost. There was no way to legally sever a marriage in Arukan. How, then, could Yeshi offer this man a lifetime with her?

  “I have,” the man replied. “It will be difficult but I think we can manage it.”

  “It would be best if you were nowhere near,” Yeshi said.

  “It would be best if neither of us was near,” he replied. “That narrows our options.”

  “Time is growing short, too,” Yeshi added. She looked younger, softer in the firelight, but there was nothing soft about her next words.

  “We must kill Tahmu soon.”

  Kevla barely slept. The dreams came as they always did, but frightening as they were, her memories of what she had overheard terrified Kevla even more.

  What to do? She could not accuse Yeshi, not without proof. Nor, she admitted, even with proof, not as low-caste as she was. She supposed she could tell Sahlik. But how would she explain how she came by the knowledge? She could not tell anyone about her abilities, even though she had learned something urgent and important through them.

  There was only one person in whom she could confide, and she desperately hoped they would have time together soon.

  She spent every waking moment in a state of heightened awareness, wondering if today would be the day when Yeshi and her unknown lover would strike. It did not matter to her if Tahmu were in the House or not, because until she knew who Yeshi’s lover was, she had no idea how close he was to Tahmu.

  The Great Dragon seemed to have no interest in Kevla’s waking torments. Each night, it demanded, “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?” And she continued to have no answer for it.

  She stood again in the ring of fire, quaking in terror before the Dragon’s overwhelming presence, when suddenly she bolted awake to find Jashemi sitting beside her on the floor.

  “I am sorry to come in the night like this,” he said, “but it has been so long since I saw you, and there seemed no other way.”

  They both took up a great deal more space on the floor of the tiny room than they had when they were children, and were forced to sit close together. Kevla sat up and clasped her hands about her knees.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said. “I have learned something awful, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “What?”

  “I have told you that I can see in the flame. See into other fires, and into the faces of those who sit around those fires.” Her tongue would not cooperate and her mouth clamped shut of its own accord. How to tell this to Yeshi’s son?

  Gently, Jashemi urged, “Go on.”

  “I think I should have told you this earlier, but I thought no good would come of it if I did.” She took a deep breath. “When I was still a handmaiden, I suspected Yeshi was taking lovers. Now, I am certain. I have seen them. Together.”

  Jashemi went very still. The moon was still close to new and there was little light. She was glad of that. She did not want to see the pain on his face.

  Finally, he said, “I have suspected the same myself. I had hoped I was wrong. It could mean her life if Father learns of it. Do you know who it is?”

  Kevla shook her head. “Scrying by the fire is difficult. It’s unclear at best, and the man never looks directly into the flames so I can see his face. But the voice seems familiar, though I can’t identify it. Jashemi, there’s more,” she blurted. “The other night, I saw them sitting together and they were talking—talking about killing Tahmu.”

  “What?”

  She shushed him frantically, fearing that his outburst would draw attention. For the first time she was grateful that her small room was so far away from the other living areas. Quickly, in a hushed voice, she recounted the conversation.

  “You’re sure of this?”

  She nodded miserably. “The words are branded in my head,” she said. “I’ve been sick with worry. You’re the only one I could tell.”

  He was silent. Gently, tentatively, she touched his arm. “I’m so sorry, Jashemi. I wish this weren’t so.”

  “Kevla…” he said slowly, “you don’t think…you are certain…You are certain your power is true? Perhaps you are seeing something that doesn’t really exist.”

  “Do you think I’m a demon, then?” She hadn’t meant the statement to sound so challenging, but his words hurt her deeply. He softened at once, and impulsively stroked her cheek.

  “Of course not. I shouldn’t have said that.” A soft moan escaped his lips and he buried his face in his hands. “If only you knew who it was,” he said, his voice thick with pain.

  “Maybe we can find out. I have an idea….”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tahmu lazed in the cool water, letting it caress his body and wash away the dirt and aches of a hard day of riding. Sa’abahs were more comfortable than horses, but he had been riding since daybreak and it was nearly dusk. He was growing older and his body preferred beds to hard-packed desert soil.

  He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned to see who it was. He smiled when he saw Jashemi.

  “Have you come to join me in the waters, my son?”

  “Indeed I have, Father, unless you wish to be alone.”

  “I always have time for you.” The words were sincere. There had been a distance between them since Jashemi had spoken to Tahmu of his dreams. Jashemi had said nothing more about them since then and Tahmu desperately hoped the troubling dreams had ceased.

  Jashemi stripped off his rhia and stepped into the cool water. He sank beneath the surface, then sat beside his father on the stone steps. The silence that fell between them was awkward, but Tahmu waited for Jashemi to break it.

  “My birth festival is approaching,” Jashemi said at last. Tahmu nodded. Jashemi would be turning twenty, the age at which an Arukani youth became a man. The Waiting would then begin, and within six months the Acknowledgment would occur. At that time, Jashemi would come into his own as heir. He would not receive all of his father’s land, wealth or prestige, but much of it would be granted to him at that time.

  “I have a request,” Jashemi continued. “I would like to make the ceremony open to all members of the Clan and their servants. Even five-scores.�
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  “We will be gathering everyone together for the Acknowledgment in six more months. They will not like having to make the trek twice.”

  “I know,” his son said. “But I would like to do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps we can change things around,” Jashemi said, which was not an answer to the question. “Perhaps we can have everyone come for the birthday celebration instead.”

  Tahmu regarded his offspring with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Where had this streak of defiance come from? Why was Jashemi so bent on changing things, on defying—

  And then he thought of a youth much like Jashemi, who had been hotheaded and passionate and set on much greater acts of defiance. Jashemi-kha-Tahmu had had bad dreams a few years ago, and now he wanted to change the order in which the Clan came to honor him. Tahmu-kha-Rakyn had wanted to marry a low-caste woman and had brought their Bai-sha child into the House of Four Waters. Who was he to judge his son?

  Sighing, he said, “It can be done, but we will need to send falcons out tomorrow. Such a journey requires time to prepare, and we must make it as simple as possible for our people to obey. You are certain you must have it this way?”

  Jashemi turned to face him. He smiled, but there was something sad in his eyes. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” he said.

  As he regarded his son and thought about the upcoming celebration, Tahmu realized that there were things he and Jashemi had never discussed; things that a father needed to tell his son.

  “You are about to become a man according to the laws of our people,” he said. “Soon after that, you will take a wife.”

  Jashemi’s expression was unreadable. “I am not unaware of my duties to the Clan.”

  “It is not always a duty,” Tahmu said. “With the right woman, it can be joyful.”

  “Forgive me for saying this, Father, but it seems to me from what you have told me that you know of both joy and duty, but not with the same woman.”