On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  She continued to watch Yeshi as one of the aerie’s hawks might. Looking as out of place as a silver goblet in a sandcattle pen, Yeshi made her way through the kitchen, stopping in front of the plate that would be the khashim’s that evening.

  “Will the gourd-bird sit here, on my husband’s plate?” Yeshi inquired.

  The girl looked alarmed at being directly addressed and glanced at Sahlik, who nodded. “Yes, great lady. On the khashim’s plate, if it pleases you.”

  “It does indeed,” Yeshi said, smiling warmly. “I see you are almost done. Finish it quickly, and I will fill it with delicious treats myself.”

  The girl whirled around and began to carve rapidly. Kevla hoped she did not cut herself. She averted her eyes momentarily as she heard the rustle of Yeshi’s clothing and knew that the woman was regarding her. Then Yeshi turned, and began to fill the gourd from a bowl full of delicacies placed next to it.

  Again, Kevla lifted her gaze just slightly and watched as Yeshi worked. Sahlik was tasting the stew, and the other servants had their eyes on their tasks. Into the hollow went dates, nuts, cleverly fashioned pastries—

  —and something else, a green powder that poured from Yeshi’s sleeve and dissolved when it hit the juicy fruit—

  A gray mist swirled before Kevla’s eyes as she realized what was happening. The scream welled up and ripped free from her throat.

  “No!”

  Righteous fury and a terrible fear for Tahmu shuddered through Kevla as she lifted her hand and pointed at the tray, pointed at the poison-soaked fruit that a supposedly devoted wife was going to feed to her unsuspecting husband, pointed at the evidence that would save Tahmu’s life and expose Yeshi’s crime for all to see—

  The thin ribbon of fire began at the tip of her finger and sped across the room like a lightning strike.

  It struck the gourd and the small table exploded. A curtain of flame leaped upward. Sparks scattered across the room to ignite hair and clothing. Kevla heard the screams of terrified servants and saw Yeshi leap backward, staring first at her burned hands and then at Kevla. Smoke filled the room. Others coughed and shrieked, but Kevla felt no sting from the smoke. The only thing she felt was a sickening horror as Yeshi pointed a red, oozing finger at her and cried, “Kuli!”

  “No,” Kevla said again, her voice a hoarse whisper. She knew she should run, should flee before they could catch her, but she remained rooted to the spot, her eyes locked with Yeshi’s, and she saw in those dark orbs a hot blaze of triumph.

  Kevla suddenly snapped out of her paralysis. The kitchen was chaos. Servants were screaming, fighting to escape. The walls were of stone, but everything that could catch fire had, and the smoke was thick and acrid. She turned and tried to run with the others, but felt strong hands close on her arms and shoulders.

  “Sahlik!” she screamed as she twisted in the implacable grasp of two of Yeshi’s servants. “Sahlik, help me, she tried to poison Tahmu…please! Help me!”

  She screamed the last two words over and over, craning her neck to try to find the elderly servant. Hard hands clamped over her mouth. Kevla squirmed, fighting to escape, fighting to warn someone, fighting to breathe. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she knew no more.

  Tahmu was pleased with the new irrigation system his men had devised. It would be a good year for the crops. He smiled as he turned Swift from the Four Waters and headed home.

  The smile faded as he saw black smoke curling up from the house. He clapped heels to Swift and the horse sprang into a gallop. As he drew closer, he realized that the fire was coming from the kitchens. His heart contracted.

  Kevla….

  A small figure was running toward him. He recognized the youth as one of the kitchen servants. The boy was now waving frantically, and Tahmu slowed as he approached.

  “Fire!” the boy gasped.

  “I can see that,” Tahmu snapped. “Was anyone hurt?”

  The boy nodded, leaning forward with his hands on his knees as he gulped air. “Your wife, great khashim. Her hands were burned. Asha is with her now.”

  Tahmu saw that his rhia had been singed. “Is it bad?”

  “Yes, khashim.”

  Tahmu felt sick. “Will she have the use of her hands? What does Asha say?”

  “I have not spoken with him, great lord.”

  When he was done talking to the boy, he would ride to Asha’s hut. The youth was skilled and had been well taught. He would do all he could. It would have to be enough. Pleas to the Great Dragon would be in order.

  “How did it start?”

  The boy’s eyes were enormous as he replied, “Kevla.”

  Tahmu’s heart sank. Yeshi would surely insist on a terrible punishment. Curse the girl’s carelessness! “What happened? Did she get too close to the fire?”

  The boy shook his head solemnly. “Great lord…she made the fire. It flew from her hand like an arrow of flame.” Tears of fear filled his eyes. “The khashima named her…kuli.”

  This could not be. Tahmu refused to believe it. Kevla was just a girl, a Bai-sha, not a demon. His mind raced back to that day so many years ago, when he had held her in front of him as they rode, just as he would a pure-blooded daughter. He thought of watching her dance in the square, of standing demurely by Yeshi, of her uncomplaining adaptation to life in the kitchens.

  This was not a kuli. This was just a young woman.

  “Yeshi said this?” he asked. “You are certain?” He knew he was grasping at straws, but perhaps, just perhaps, Yeshi was trying to turn a common kitchen accident into a way to destroy the young woman she hated.

  The boy nodded. “Yes, great lord. But we all saw it. Yeshi just said it first.”

  Tahmu began to tremble. Was it possible? Had he truly unleashed a kuli upon his household?

  “There is one more thing, great lord,” said the boy. He looked even more frightened now than he had earlier, if such a thing was possible.

  “Speak,” Tahmu said, in a hoarse voice.

  “Kevla said that the khashima was trying to poison you.”

  “Poison me?” The words were yet another blow. Yeshi disliked him, he knew that much, but poison him? Surely not. If Kevla had done what this boy said she had done—and he would speak to Sahlik, she would not participate in any slanderous campaign Yeshi had contrived to start against Kevla—then she was indeed a kuli, and her words were lies.

  Asha was waiting outside the House for him. Anticipating his lord’s question, he said, “Great lord, Yeshi will recover. The burns are bad, and will leave their mark, but if Yeshi will let me tend her properly and obey me when I ask her to move her hands in certain ways, she will not lose the use of them.”

  “Good,” Tahmu said. “May I see her?”

  “Yes, but only briefly, my lord. Rest will help her heal.”

  Tahmu nodded his understanding. A crowd was starting to gather. It was to be expected. He was the head of the Clan; when something like this happened, they would look to him to make things right.

  He turned and regarded them. It seemed that everyone had stopped what they were doing to come to him; he could not blame them. He regarded the sea of upturned, frightened faces. They were expecting him to pronounce swift judgment. But he could not bear to do so, not yet.

  He followed Asha up the stairs to Yeshi’s quarters. His wife lay on the silken sheets. Her hair was loose on the pillow, her face pale, her hands swathed with bandages. Despite the fact that there was little affection between them, Tahmu felt a stab of sympathy. He sat down beside her and her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Leave us,” he told the healer. When the door had closed, Tahmu said gently, “Asha tells me you will recover.” She tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. “Tell me what happened.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I was in the kitchens, thinking to make you a special treat with my own hands, my husband,” she said. “Then Kevla screamed out and—fire came from her hands! She was trying to kill me! I am lucky I am alive.”
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br />   He didn’t look at her. “You think she is a kuli?”

  “What else could she be? We have burned men for less than this, my husband. Everyone saw it! I know you are fond of her because she is your Bai-sha, but you must not let that cloud your mind against what you know you must do. You must protect your people.”

  Now Tahmu did look at her. He wanted to see her reaction to his next words. “She accused you of trying to poison me.”

  Yeshi smiled sadly. “And does that not make it even more obvious what she is? You and I are not in love, Tahmu, but that does not make me a murderer. Even if I hated you with all my heart, why would I try to kill you? I could not be khashima without a khashim.”

  Tahmu had to admit that she spoke the truth. While he could stretch his imagination to accommodate Yeshi as hate-filled enough to kill, he could not see her jeopardizing her luxurious life as khashima.

  He bent to kiss her forehead with a heart that grew heavier by the moment. “Rest, now,” he said.

  “Where is she?” he demanded as he strode into the courtyard. “Bring her before me.”

  Everyone knew who he meant, and a ripple of surprise ran through the crowd. They were curious as to why he would even bother seeing the kuli-cursed girl.

  He spotted Sahlik and waved her forward. The old woman forced her way through the crowd. He extended a hand and helped her up the steps. Placing his lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Tell me that this was a simple kitchen accident.”

  Sahlik had begun looking old to him when he was twelve. Since then, it seemed to him that she had not aged. Now, though, all the years seemed to have descended upon her at once. Her eyes were red, and not, he suspected, just from the smoke.

  “Great lord,” she said, “I would that I could. But I saw it with my own eyes. Kevla extended a hand, and fire came from it.”

  Tahmu let out a low groan. “I had hoped this was nothing more than Yeshi’s jealousies,” he whispered.

  Sahlik clutched his hand. “Perhaps it was a divine blessing from the Dragon,” she said. “Kevla said that Yeshi had put poison in your dish. Perhaps the Dragon gave her his fire to protect you.”

  “The Dragon is a distant god,” Tahmu said, his face impassive. “He doesn’t come when he is needed.” He squeezed her hand, and gently touched her arm to indicate that she rejoin the crowd. Tears filled the old woman’s eyes, but she obeyed.

  It was then that Tahmu saw his daughter.

  Halid had taken charge of the kuli masquerading as a beautiful, illegitimate young woman. She had been beaten, he saw, and his heart ached. But he was not surprised. A rough cloth had been tied around her mouth, and her hands were tightly bound. Halid clutched another rope that snaked around her waist. She limped as she moved forward, and the crowd parted to give her a wide berth. Tahmu heard muttered curses and watched as someone spat upon her. Step by slow, unsteady step, Kevla Bai-Sha made her way toward the House. Halid led her as he might a cow or goat, but with far less gentleness.

  Finally, she stood before him, and before he could say anything she had collapsed at his feet. Her bound hands, the hands that had supposedly shot fire across the room, reached to touch his sandals. Reacting instinctively, he jerked back, and heard the murmur of the crowd.

  He swallowed hard. “Speak,” he ordered his daughter.

  She was crying so hard that she could not. Her hair had come undone from its customary braid and fell like a black river down her back and face. Her body shook with each sob.

  Tahmu could not help himself. Knowing full well that he should not, he stepped forward and raised her, shaking her gently to get her attention.

  Her head came up and she looked him full in the face. He had not looked at her so for many years, and with a pang realized that she had blossomed into a true beauty. There was much of him in her face still, but more of the radiant, exquisite Keishla.

  His words to her came back to haunt him as he stared at their child: This I swear to you—she will never want for food or a safe place to sleep. No man will dare lay a hand on her without my permission.

  He had lied to his true love, had betrayed her trust in him. Now, he feared he would have to do something every bone in his body screamed at him not to do.

  “Kevla,” he said, for her ears alone, “give me something, anything, to defend you with. Tell me you didn’t do this thing and I will believe you.”

  Her eyes filled with fresh tears. They spilled down her cheeks as she replied, “I wasn’t trying to hurt her, great lord. I was trying to save you. Yeshi and Halid have been conspiring against—”

  Her voice continued speaking, but Tahmu didn’t hear another word. Even she had confessed to her evil.

  My daughter has become a demon.

  He let her go and with a sudden rush of pain and anger shoved her. She fell backward hard; no one rushed to break the kuli’s fall.

  “Take her,” he ordered, fighting to keep his composure. “Take her and build the fire. Lock her in her room and bring her out when it is time. No food, no water. The Great Dragon is clear about what to do with kulis and those whom they have cursed.”

  He looked her in the eye. He owed her that much.

  “The kuli will burn.”

  The color left her face, but she made no sound. She stared at him. Her lips parted as if to speak, but if she said anything, he did not hear it; it was drowned out by the cries of the crowd. They were jubilant, angry, ready to see justice done. Tahmu stood rigid, his knees locked lest they tremble and betray him, and watched as Halid dragged the lost girl away. The crowd dispersed, returning to their duties. They would be in the courtyard on the morrow, ready to watch the demon die, knowing that their khashim was keeping them safe.

  Tahmu went inside and closed the door. Moving quickly, he ducked down a corridor and into a little-used room. There, where no one could see him, Tahmu-kha-Rakyn, the most powerful khashim in Arukan, slid slowly down the cool stone wall to the floor. He wept silently, as he had not done since he had abandoned Keishla for the good of the Clan. Now he had pronounced a death sentence on the living symbol of their passionate, forbidden love.

  Alone in her bedroom, hearing the cheers of the crowd as she drifted in and out of consciousness, Yeshi smiled through her pain.

  Jashemi enjoyed riding alone. The last few weeks, he had hardly been able to seize any time for himself. Not that he regretted his decision. He and Melaan had shared everything they remembered about their dreams, and the Second had supported him in his desire to unite the clans. A year ago, this vision that both he and his father shared had seemed like a child’s tale. Now, faced with the threat of the strange armies from over the mountains, the clans seemed much more inclined to talk. Several of them had already come for a meeting, and things sounded promising.

  It caught him in midgallop.

  Suddenly his chest constricted and his vision swam. Fear with no name washed through him, causing him to gasp and his sa’abah to slow, sensing a change in its rider. One hand crept up to clutch his chest.

  An image of Kevla rose in front of him that was so real he almost believed she was present. He saw her bound, sobbing, beaten. He cried her name, reached out for her. Then she was gone, and he saw only the desert sand.

  He was chilled despite the heat, covered with cold sweat. The sa’abah had come to a complete halt, and craned its neck to look back at its rider inquiringly.

  Something dreadful had happened to Kevla. He knew it in his bones. He loved her. He had to go to her.

  His new family would worry when he did not return, and he had no food and little water for a very long ride. None of that mattered. Time enough to send a hawk back once he had arrived at the House of Four Waters. Once he had saved Kevla from whatever was happening to her.

  “Come on,” he said gently to his mount, turned its head, and set off as fast as the beast could go.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kevla had not resisted when Halid and the others had hauled her away from Tahmu; she had been to
o stunned by his words to resist. They literally threw her into her room and slammed the door. She looked around her tiny room, and for the first time was glad that she struggled for space on a floor that was crowded with tools. Most of them were dulled with use, but she sat down next to an old scythe, maneuvered it into position, and began to cut her bonds.

  It took time, and the sun moved across the sky. Kevla continued; time was nothing to her now. At last the ropes fell free. She rubbed her hands to bring life back into them and assessed her situation.

  Kevla knew she was no kuli. What she had always known was that others would fear her abilities if they knew of them. If only she’d been thinking! She could have dropped a pot to create a distraction and then “accidentally” knocked over the poisoned food. But she had not thought, she had reacted on instinct, and tomorrow, she would pay the price.

  She studied the door. It was made of wood. If she could send a bolt of flame leaping from her fingers that could ignite a table, the wooden door to her room should be no challenge. Then again, she would probably simply trap herself in the room and burn to death, or choke on the smoke. She knew she could start a fire, and could see through it; she feared fire was not friend enough to leave her flesh unscathed.

  Besides, where could she run to? Tales would spread of the kuli in woman-shape. How would she live? She could not go to Jashemi; he had a family now, and if he took her in, they would call him kuli-cursed.

  As she thought about him, tears welled in her eyes. She had never gotten to say goodbye to him. She wiped the tears away angrily. Crying served nothing. Kevla got unsteadily to her feet and looked out the window. In the dying light of the day, she could see the pyre being built, and watched with detached interest as piles of wood began to appear. There was a platform and a long pole in the center.