On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  “I love you,” she whispered, caressing his face with one hand as the other gripped his arm, her fingers digging into the flesh.

  I love you, he thought wildly. But he was beyond words now, though he ached to say them. He let his body speak for him, communicated his desire and need for her with each increasingly urgent thrust. She was breathing quickly now, her breasts rising and falling, the sight of her passion heightening his own.

  Jashemi wanted this moment to last forever, and he tried to hold back the cresting tide. But then Kevla made a soft sound and bit her lower lip, and the powerful surge of love he felt for her swept him over the precipice.

  Heat, and wetness, and tightness—

  He cried aloud as his climax overtook him. His eyes squeezed shut and he surrendered to the exquisite pleasure.

  Merging. Union. One. Heat and—

  His eyes flew open, but he did not see Kevla or the cave. He saw only darkness at first, but then realized that this darkness was pulsating. A word came to him: Shadow.

  The queen stood next to him, her presence a comfort, although not even a woman as magnificent as she could hold back the Shadow’s onslaught. The boy thought about the dead youth he had found, whom he had seen in a vision. He felt drawn to the young man, bonded with him, even though he had died—been murdered—before they had even met. Hard to believe it had been only two weeks since he had seen the youth; harder to believe that in a short hour or less, he, the queen, this solid stone parapet, their entire world would be gone—

  “—wiping you out, as easily as this.” Melaan knelt on the sand and traced a circle with his finger, then with one quickmovement erased the image as if it had never been. He understood, he was one of them, was a—

  The ship was tossed by the storm, but it was no cloud that was rushing toward the elderly captain’s vessel now. The Shadow was nothing natural, and he knew when he saw it that his son had failed, and the pain of that knowledge stabbed his heart and he fell to the deck—

  The woman whooped with glee, and ran to embrace her friend as she stood with her other four companions. The Shadow was fading, evaporating like mist on a hot day. But it could not be gone soon enough for her. She shook her fist as it retreated—

  The girl gasped as she clutched her chest. Blood spurted out through the hole the man had made with his knife. Vainly, she tried to stop the flood, but it dribbled between her fingers. As she fell to the wet cobblestones, her blond hair pooling beneath her head as the blood pooled beneath her body, she held fast to one thought and smiled through her agony: The bastard had attacked the wrong woman. She was not one of the five, only a—

  Jashemi arched above Kevla, staring into the lives he had lived, swift, sure knowledge flowing into his being even as his seed flowed into his beloved. He remembered everything now. He had to tell Kevla, had to let her know….

  Her legs locked around him and as he blinked and again saw her face, he realized that she was lost in her own cresting passion. Brokenly, he cried, “Kevla, my love, you are fire!”

  The words Jashemi uttered floated to Kevla’s ears, but she did not acknowledge them. Her eyes were shut and she was so deep in sensation that she could not tell where she ended and he began. She had not expected that physical union would be so painfully, powerfully sweet.

  Her heart slammed against her chest and suddenly a wave of ecstasy washed over her. She clenched hard against him, wrapping her arms about him and pulling him into her even more as her body exploded with delight. Heat burned through her, she could feel it emanating from her, and for a long, taut moment everything went away except this molten sensation of bliss.

  Suddenly Jashemi’s weight disappeared and her arms were empty. Still gasping and trembling from release, Kevla opened her eyes.

  Jashemi was gone.

  For a mercifully long, uncomprehending moment, she simply stared at the fine gray powder that coated her body. Then the devastating reality crashed upon her.

  Covered in the ashes of her beloved, Kevla Bai-sha began to scream.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  How long she laid on the floor of the cave, sobbing and shrieking her agony, Kevla did not know. At some point, she drifted into a restless slumber, and as always when she slept, she saw the Great Dragon. This time, for only the second time she could recall, it did not bellow its challenge at her. Instead, it lowered its head and crooned softly.

  She awoke sometime later, sick and dizzy from grief and lack of food, to find the sa’abah tapping her with one stubby forepaw. It smelled of warm, musky fur. Kevla did not move. She willed the creature away, for if she sat up and acknowledged it, she would have to also acknowledge that life went on after…and she could not bring herself to do that. Better far to lie here in a stupor, surrendering to the mourning until at last death claimed her as well as Jashemi.

  She curled up in a tight ball at the mere thought of his name. Part of her was aware that she was still covered in his ashes, but another part could not admit that or else she knew she would go mad.

  So Kevla lay unresponsive, and the sa’abah grew annoyed. After a few moments, it shoved her hard with its snout, blew mucous on her neck, and uttered a loud bleating sound right in her ear.

  She bolted upright, wiping at the offending fluid and covering her ringing ears. “You stupid creature!” she yelled at it. It seemed unperturbed by her outburst, rocking back on its hind legs and surveying her with what looked like satisfaction.

  Kevla sagged. The beast had foiled her plan to lie here on the cave floor and die. She gazed at it and tears filled her eyes. It swiveled its ears expectantly. She tried to stand and couldn’t, so she crawled to the spring and washed herself with hands that trembled. For a long time, she sat in the cool waters, wondering if she would ever feel clean again.

  Oh, my love. I killed you. I killed you.

  The tears came again, flooding down her face, the hot moisture a contrast to the cool water, and she sobbed until she could cry no more.

  On unsteady feet, she reached for Jashemi’s discarded clothes. She swallowed hard as she picked up the rhia. Bringing it to her face, she inhaled the musky, spicy scent. Kevla sank to the ground, the garment still pressed to her face. I’ll just lie down again and pretend he is here, I can smell him, he’s right here….

  Another irritated bleat from the sa’abah roused her, and, surrendering to the torment that continuing to live brought her, she donned Jashemi’s clothes.

  I should have known better. I should have known, somehow, that this would hurt you. Oh, Jashemi….

  How had it happened, that she had destroyed her love? It was not through her kiss, or her touch; he had entered her fully, spilled his seed inside her. When was the deadly moment, and why?

  The memory was agony, and she pushed it away. A thought came to her mind, and her heart lifted slightly. Yes. Yes, this was the right thing to do. The sa’abah was hungry and wanted food. She was in pain, and wanted release.

  She would make a pilgrimage to Mount Bari, and finally come face-to-face with the Great Dragon.

  She would offer herself as a sacrifice. And then, perhaps, she would have atoned sufficiently for what she had done….

  Kevla gave the sa’abah its head, trusting the creature to scent out food and society, for sa’abahs were herd animals and felt most comfortable with those of their kind. Where there were sa’abahs, there would likely be people, and where there were people, there would be a chance to steal food and clothing.

  Tahmu would have sent out hawks by now, warning other clans of the dreaded kulis in human form they might encounter. She did not want to be caught by Tahmu; she did not want to cheat the Great Dragon out of his sacrifice. So she decided to make her way carefully, walking in the shadows.

  Kevla looked to the North. There it was, Mount Bari, the most sacred place in the world to her people. There, the Great Dragon made his home. There, she would end her brief, pain-filled life.

  The thought brought some small shred of comfort.

>   She approached the outskirts of a small town at dusk, and was surprised to find her stomach growling as she smelled roasting meat. Kevla heard the tinkling of bells and caught snatches of song, and for a moment ached to join the singers.

  Stop it, she told herself sharply. You never belonged. You were born Bai-sha, and any chance you had at earning a place among ordinary people was destroyed when you—

  Kevla gulped hard. The pain, horror and racking guilt almost made her start crying again, but she fought the grief back.

  The sa’abah sniffed the air and bleated. It had caught the scent of other sa’abahs. Kevla had never ridden one of the creatures before her escape, and the fact that she had been able to stay on its back at all was testimony to how easy the creatures were to ride. Now, though, it set off at a brisk pace and she found herself bouncing, clutching its long neck. The reins slipped from her grasp and she swore. Any hope of controlling the beast was now gone.

  She debated whether to slide off and take her chances in a fall, but the ground looked very far away. And without the sa’abah, she’d never make it to Mount Bari. So she hung on grimly, hoping desperately they would not run across any people.

  A girl’s shout quashed that hope. Kevla couldn’t make out the words. The creature slowed, making a chattering noise, and within a heartbeat Kevla was surrounded by at least a dozen other sa’abahs.

  “Here, sweet one,” came the female voice. “What is it that you—oh!”

  Kevla looked down and right into the startled brown eyes of a woman about five years younger than she. They stared at each other for a moment, and an observer would have been hard-pressed to say who was the most fearful.

  Kevla put a finger to her lips and slid off the sa’abah. Her legs were stiff and numb from the long ride and they buckled beneath her. She went down hard on the earth and the girl watching her giggled.

  Kevla got to her feet. The girl was much shorter than she as well as younger, and in the fading light Kevla could just glimpse the two scores on her arm.

  “Who are you?” the girl said in a whisper, mindful of Kevla’s gesture. “Why are you wearing a man’s rhia?” Before Kevla could answer, her eyes widened and she added, “Are you an escaping five-score?”

  Kevla shook her head, rubbing her sore behind. “No,” she whispered. “But…I need your help. I’m in trouble and I need some food and some proper women’s clothing.”

  The girl glanced back at the town. Small fires were being lit and their lights were orange and cheery.

  Fire. Kevla closed her eyes in remembered pain, then opened them when she felt a gentle touch on her arm.

  “I see that something lies heavy on your heart, uhlala,” she said, her gaze searching Kevla’s face. Kevla blinked. No one had ever addressed her as uhlala before. “You have the look of one who has suffered.” One hand reached to touch the scars on her own arm, then she forced it down.

  “Only one who has known suffering can see it in another,” said Kevla, and it was true. The girl’s master had not been as kind to his five-scores as Tahmu was to his, and the child’s haunted eyes reflected that.

  Kevla made a decision. “I have no wish to get you into trouble. Let me water my mount and I will go.”

  “No,” the girl said. “Wait here until it is full dark. Then I can help you. I tend the sa’abahs, I am not generally permitted in the town.”

  Kevla’s eyes brimmed with tears. She was moved to encounter so much kindness from a stranger. “Thank you,” she said.

  The sa’abah-tender was as good as her word. Once darkness had fallen, she sneaked into the village and returned with a sack and a waterskin.

  “They are all drunk,” she said. “Our khashim is celebrating a great victory against the Star Clan. Tomorrow when things are missing, everyone will be accusing the other. Here. I got you some bread, some dried meat, some fruit and water. The best I could do is give you some of my clothing. It is not befitting your station, but it will cover you properly.”

  Kevla accepted the offering. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.

  The girl inclined her head. “It is little enough. Uhlala—I do not know you, nor your errand. But somehow I feel as if I needed to do this for you. Perhaps one day, we will both understand why.”

  Impulsively, Kevla reached and hugged the girl. The child felt stiff in her embrace at first, then relaxed, and after a moment’s hesitation, hugged Kevla back.

  Kevla mounted and turned her beast to the North. She would live a few more days at least; with luck, long enough to complete her fatal mission. She wondered if the girl would have been so forthcoming with gifts and aid if she had known Kevla’s true intentions.

  She rode until the moon was high in the sky, then stopped to rest for the night. As she slipped off her mount, she realized that she had no way of restraining him. Kevla looked at the sa’abah, and he returned her gaze with interest.

  “Are you going to stay with me, or are you going to run back and join your friends?”

  It cocked its head and grunted.

  “Which does that mean?” She wondered if she was going mad, talking to an animal. But it was better than being alone with her silent thoughts. Jashemi’s face appeared in her mind’s eye and she squeezed her eyes shut as pain constricted her heart.

  I am coming, Jashemi. I will be with you soon.

  She sat and the beast settled down beside her amiably. As she unwrapped the food the girl had stolen for her, the smell of it hit her nostrils and moisture flooded her mouth. She ate ravenously, chewing and swallowing great chunks of the bread. The animal had drunk his fill with the other sa’abahs, and she knew that it could now go without water for several days. She took a small sip and tried not to think of the water in the cave where Jashemi had taken her, tried not to think of his hands on her body, tried not to think of—

  And then she understood. Jashemi had not died from anything he had done, from taking her virginity. He had died when she had fully surrendered to her feelings, allowed herself to be caught up in the passion they shared. Her release, her moment of supreme pleasure, of lack of control over these unsought powers was what had claimed him.

  Suddenly, she was on her knees, vomiting up the half-masticated bread and crying. It was too much to be borne. Surely, the Dragon would come and take her right now. But no, the night sky did not suddenly fill with the sound of beating wings; no shadow blotted out the moon to descend upon her. The Great Dragon was not going to make it easy.

  Gulping salty tears, she sat up straighter. Slowly, deliberately, she took another bite of bread and forced it down. She wiped her eyes. She would eat, and drink, and sleep, and meet the Dragon in his own lair.

  And then he would end this torment.

  Kevla woke in the predawn to find that the sa’abah, far from attempting to leave in the night, had snuggled up to her. Its fur was so soft. She stroked it absently, wondering why it had felt the need to be so close to her. Surely it could not be cold—

  Frowning, Kevla touched the fur again, paying attention to it this time. It felt cold to the touch. Another “gift,” she thought bitterly; she no longer felt the cold, even when a furred creature did. Her head and her heart ached, but she forced herself to eat some dried fruit and drink water. She wondered dully if Tahmu had gone riding out after her, or if he had merely sent out falcons warning other clans against the “kulis.” That thought sluggishly led to another; that Tahmu’s life was still in danger. How could she have forgotten this?

  If Yeshi and Halid wanted to take over the clan, they would rejoice that Jashemi was—

  Dead, dead….

  —discredited and could not lay claim to leading the Clan of Four Waters. There would be no one else to challenge Halid; Jashemi’s cousins, who would have been next in line, had been killed long ago in a raid. Tradition would side with a seemingly loyal Second who knew how to lead the Clan, rather than a distant, perhaps common, relative. But Tahmu was still very much alive.

  The first emotion
other than raw, ragged grief crept into Kevla’s heart. Despite what he had done, she still knew Tahmu to be a good man. He was only obeying the laws of his people, doing his best to protect them. He did not deserve to be murdered by a faithless wife and her deceitful lover.

  She hesitated before she did what she knew had to be done. She hated her fire abilities now. They had cost her the single most precious thing in her life, and she was loath to make use of them. But she was already doing so without being able to control it; she was warm and comfortable in an environment that made a sa’abah shiver. She might as well deliberately use her abilities to help save a man’s life.

  Kevla scouted for a scrap of dried grass, found a few sorry blades, and placed them down in front of her. She took a deep breath, then said quietly, “Burn.”

  As it had always done since she began to bleed, the fire obeyed her command. A small flame crackled to life.

  “Show me Tahmu.”

  It revealed nothing. Kevla tried not to be too worried. The fire-scrying only worked if the person she was trying to locate was near a fire himself. It was morning. She should have tried last night; the odds that Tahmu would be close to a fire would have increased. She would try again tonight.

  After getting some food and water in her stomach, Kevla stretched, trying to ease the soreness of riding all day, then mounted. She set her eyes on the sacred mountain, and rode.

  She stopped only briefly to eat and stretch. She talked to the sa’abah a great deal in an effort to push down the pain. It was starting to abate, only, she suspected, because she was focused so intently on her own impending death. It made her feel better to think that it would all be over soon.

  When she made camp that night, the first thing she did was create a fire and ask to see Tahmu. She watched it intently for some time, eating and drinking with her eyes glued to the flickering flames.