It sounded so easy and so difficult at the same time. She was holding on to consciousness by a thread, only faintly aware of the pressure of her father’s hand on hers.
“Kevla, you must do as the Dragon says,” Tahmu said softly. “I have forsaken Keishla and lost Jashemi. Don’t let the Emperor take my daughter, too.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes. She had never seen him look like this; not when she told him about Jashemi, not when he had taken his blood-marked daughter to give to the Dragon. On his strong, handsome face were mingled hope and fear and…love?
Quickly, before she lost her courage, she squeezed her eyes shut and visualized the arrow that had pierced her body. It sprang to her mind’s eye immediately. She could see its harsh wooden shaft embedded in her flesh. She understood now the reason for Asha’s concern; it would indeed have been impossible to remove.
But not to immolate.
Kevla, my love, you are fire!
She gasped and arched her body as the heat began to burn from deep inside her. It spread rapidly through her body, and she felt her father drop her hand; no doubt it was too hot for him to continue to hold. She willed her body to consume the wooden arrow shaft, and she screamed aloud as the internal heat increased. She felt the shaft catch fire and burn to ashes in the space of one heartbeat to the next.
More. She needed to do more.
The ashes inside her continued to be consumed. Burned away until they had completely dissolved. Now she turned her attention to the entry wound in her lower back, willing her body to concentrate the heat there. She heard gasps and low talking as her father, Asha and the Dragon, and whoever else had clustered around to witness, saw what they could only call a miracle. One final, excruciatingly hot burst, and then it was over.
She had been sweating profusely, but her skin was dry. It was so hot that her sweat had evaporated instantly. Kevla gasped in short, harsh breaths, willing the fire to fade, to leave, to return to wherever it dwelt deep inside of her until she called it again. Slowly, the nearly unbearable heat subsided.
Kevla opened her eyes. “Asha,” she whispered, her hands fluttering to her shoulder. “You can cut out the arrow head now.”
She closed her eyes and knew no more.
The man resembled those who had attacked her people, but Kevla knew he was not one of them. Tall, with yellow hair, he waited for her on a hill covered with white. She walked toward him, and the strange whiteness melted at her footsteps.
His face had laugh lines around the bright blue eyes, but now those eyes were hardened with pain and anger. This was a man who understood suffering, and who also understood the desire for vengeance.
And sitting at his feet, blue stripes running along its body, was a creature that resembled a simmar.
Jashemi’s dream, she thought; I am dreaming Jashemi’s dream. Floating toward her as she slowly swam toward the waking world came a voice she knew and loved. Jashemi’s.
“You must hurry, Flame Dancer. Hurry, or you will be too late.”
When she awoke, it was to find the Dragon gazing down at her. “You’d sleep through an avalanche, wouldn’t you?”
She grinned up at him. The grin faded as memories flooded back: the memory of fireballs leaving her hands to destroy an enemy, the memory of a flow of molten stone that obeyed her commands to engulf hundreds, perhaps thousands, in its flood.
The memory of turning an arrow shaft to ashes inside her own body.
He helped her sit up. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said. Her garment had been cut away so that Asha could tend to her injured shoulder. It was bandaged securely. She winced. “It hurts.”
“I imagine it would,” said the Dragon. “You melted the arrowhead itself. When Asha removed it, it was but a molten lump of metal.” He eyed her. “You can heal the wound, too, if you choose to do so.”
She shrank from invoking that power again so soon. It was still so strange and frightening to her. But her dream had been laced with urgency, and she would not serve her great duty if she were injured and taking time to heal.
“I don’t want to leave so soon,” she said softly.
“I know,” said the Dragon. “But the other Dancers are ready, and you have made an enemy here.”
“The Emperor,” she said, and he nodded. “I felt him. He is full of hatred. He—he wants the Dancers dead, doesn’t he?”
Slowly, the Dragon nodded. “I am not certain, but thus far, I think he is only aware of you. You need to find the other four, Kevla. Trust me, they are ready. Fire has always been the leader, the most passionate of the four Dancers. They will follow you.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Follow me, Kevla Bai-sha. It seems absurd.”
“But you know it is not undeserved,” he said. “You know how well you fought today.”
Bile rose in her throat as she heard again the cries of the dying. She would probably never know exactly how many lives she had taken today, and she did not want to.
“I did what I had to do.”
“As the Dancers and Lorekeepers ever have,” he said gently. “Call on the power again, Kevla. Heal yourself.”
Slowly, she put her left hand to her right shoulder and, wincing, undid the bandages. The wound was clean, but deep where Asha had dug out the arrowhead. The heat came so quickly it was startling. She confined it to her hand, felt it penetrate deeply. Her skin began to crackle and smoke, then suddenly, the heat abated. The wound was seared closed. After a moment, even that redness faded, leaving her skin unscarred.
“Behold the healing power of Fire,” the Dragon said softly.
“Fire, then,” said the Emperor. “He was the Flame Dancer.”
The advisor nodded, then said hesitantly, “Our men said they saw a woman riding the Dragon, Your Excellency.”
“Man, woman, it matters not. What matters is that it was one of them. It is no wonder we were defeated so abysmally. I did not appreciate how powerful she was. We will not fail again.”
The advisor blanched. “Lord, she decimated our troops. Nearly half of them are dead, and all of the Arukani captives fled back to their Clans. The pass is blocked with stone that yet smokes. We cannot try again!”
“Not a full assault, no,” the Emperor agreed. He glanced down at the imprisoned ki-lyn. “But there are other ways to attack the Dancers. Aren’t there, my little friend, hmmm?”
The ki-lyn lowered its head and wept diamond tears.
Chapter Thirty-One
When she met with the khashims two days later, who were almost drunk with their victory, Kevla learned that the casualties on the Emperor’s side had been high, as high as perhaps ten or twelve thousand. Many of the dead, and some of the living from the Emperor’s army, had been Arukani who had been captured in raids and forced to fight. Their return to their families had been moving to behold, they told Kevla.
“I have no doubt,” she said. She hesitated, then told them, “The Dragon and I must leave you.”
“When?” demanded Terku.
“Tomorrow.”
“But we need you!” cried another khashim. She looked at her father and saw that his face was impassive, but his eyes sad. “We could not stand against the army without you. If the Emperor attacks again—”
“He won’t,” Kevla said with certainty. “He knows that I am here now, and I’m the one he’s after. You have learned how to work together. You stood side by side, clan by clan, to defeat a common foe. If you continue to rely on one another, there is nothing you will be unable to do.”
She smiled, sadly. “That was Jashemi’s dream, and that of at least one khashim here. You will be all right without us.” Before they could protest further, she stood. “Gather the clans. I would speak to them before I leave.”
It took a while, but at last everyone who had come to Mount Bari to stand against the Emperor was present. Kevla had insisted that everyone come, women and children as well as men of all castes. Standing beside her friend the Dragon, she looked out
over the sea of upturned faces and was moved by what she saw.
“You have dared so much,” Kevla told them. “You have not shirked your duty, and you have paid a painful price for your continued freedom. You have accepted that there are things you did not know before, and have grown to look upon the Lorekeepers as true bearers of wisdom, not as madmen and women. You listened to me, a woman, and followed my counsel. You have learned that the Dragon is very real, and has a kinder heart than some of the laws you attribute to him would indicate.
“All of these things speak to the quality of the people you are. Arukani are passionate and proud. We will not be dominated by the will of outsiders. We will tend to our own, and when we see injuries and injustices, we will heal them. The Great Dragon helped us see the path, and now you have chosen to walk it. You don’t need us anymore.
“But there is one thing you need,” she continued. “One thing you must reconcile.”
She nodded to the Dragon. He raised his head, closed his eyes, and uttered a long, crooning call. Even though Kevla knew what to expect, the hairs on her arms lifted at the sound.
“It is time for you all to understand the beings that you have called…the kulis.”
A cry went up. Exhausted and injured as they were, they were not beyond fear. Kevla hoped they would give their eyes time to see, to comprehend, before they acted. She knew she was taking a great risk, but after all she had witnessed over the last several days, she believed her people could be trusted to do the right thing.
They came forth from their hiding places in the mountain. Some of them limped, their legs twisted or missing altogether. Some held withered arms close to their chests. Some had faces that were beautiful and whole; some had faces that were twisted and deformed. Some had eyes that stared vacantly into nothingness. They carried their smaller brethren; their clothing was nothing but scraps of cloth left behind on altars scattered throughout Arukan. They winced in the daylight, denizens of darkness that they were, but they came when their friend the Dragon called. The Dragon, who had taken care of the very first kulis, who had fed them and taught them to speak and care for one another.
The murmurings fell silent as the Arukani, after centuries, finally beheld the kulis who had so frightened them. The kulis in return stared back, their eyes round with terror. Some of them looked as though they were about to flee, to return to the safety of the mountain caves.
“Do you see?” Kevla cried. “Look not with the eyes of fear, but the eyes of understanding…of compassion!”
On the stones of the foothills of Mount Bari, wrapped in pathetic clothing, lean and pale and haggard looking, stood the abandoned children of Arukan.
Kevla went to one of them and took her hand. The girl, about eight years old, looked up trustingly at the Flame Dancer as their fingers entwined. Kevla stroked her hair.
“For thousands of years, we thought the Dragon wanted us to expose any child born with a withered arm, or without sight or speech, or…”
She gently touched a large red patch on the child’s sweet face.
“Or the so-called blood mark. We left them on the altars, and the older ones, the ones abandoned a generation before, and a generation before that, came to take care of them. They ate the food we left for the Dragon, made clothing from the fabric used to wrap that food. And they huddled in the darkness, afraid. As afraid of the Arukani as we were of our created demons.”
Still holding the girl’s hand, she walked to where Tahmu-kha-Rakyn stood. His eyes were wide and shone with unshed tears.
“For five thousand years,” Kevla said, her voice trembling, “the Arukani people have been afraid of their own children.”
Tahmu stared at the girl, who looked back shyly at him. Slowly, the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters knelt and opened his arms to the daughter he had left lying on the Clan’s altar eight years ago.
The girl hesitated, looking up at Kevla.
“Go on, my sister,” said Kevla. She looked at Tahmu and smiled. “It’s all right. He will take good care of you.”
The girl moved forward into her father’s embrace, wrapping her arms around him as he folded her close and buried his face in her small, slim neck.
Kevla put her hand to her mouth, fearful of sobbing out loud with joy. She turned to see what the others were doing, and despite her efforts, the tears slipped freely down her face.
One by one, the men and women of Arukan were stepping forward hesitantly, trying to seek out their own lost children, looking first for the distinguishing mark or deformity and then holding on to the whole child. She watched as some continued to search in vain, and pity welled up inside her. For these parents, reconciliation had come too late. Not all the kulis survived.
Some of the children hung back, clinging to the older ones and to the Dragon, but Kevla knew in her heart that with time, there would be no more kulis. No mother had willingly surrendered the infant suckling at her breast; no father had wanted to place a baby at the foot of a mountain to die. This was a second chance, for all of them.
She did not know how long she stood, watching the reunions and feeling deeply content. A touch on her arm roused her from her reverie, and she turned to see Sahlik.
With a cry of delight, Kevla flung her arms around the old woman. “Sahlik…I am so happy to see you!”
“And I you, child. And I you.”
They drew apart and regarded one another with moist eyes. A cough behind them caused them to look up. Tahmu stood there, holding his daughter’s hand.
“There is much I would say to you both,” he said. “Sahlik…I should have listened to you. You spoke wisdom, and I was too caught up in my own pride to hear it. Much has happened since you took your fifth score.”
“I know, my lord,” Sahlik said, softening. “I have heard what happened to the khashimu…and the khashima.”
Tahmu reached to stroke his daughter’s hair as he continued. “Jashemi and Kevla benefited greatly from your presence in their lives. I…I would that this little one know you, too. Would you consider returning to the House of Four Waters?”
Sahlik’s answer was quick and heartfelt. “Of course, my lord.” She smiled slightly. “I have missed the caverns.” She looked from Kevla to Tahmu and pursed her lips shrewdly. “Let me take—do you have a name, child?”
The girl shook her head shyly.
“I will name her Meli,” Tahmu said, “if she likes it.” Kevla’s throat closed up. The word meant “gift.” “Does that please you?” he asked the girl.
“Yes,” Meli said in a whisper. She spoke with a strange accent; while the Dragon had taught the kulis to speak Arukani, all of them had their own way of uttering the words that made them unique.
“Come then, Meli,” said Sahlik, “and I will tell you all about life at the House of Four Waters.”
Kevla watched them go, smiling. Her father touched her arm. “Walk with me,” he said.
Kevla knew she needed to go, but she couldn’t tear herself away just yet. She walked and talked with her father for a long time. He told her stories of Jashemi she had never heard, some moving, some amusing, and when he had finished Kevla felt more connected to the man who had been her brother.
He spoke also of her mother, and Kevla listened hungrily as he described a woman of passion, beauty, and intelligence. He explained his reasons for marrying Yeshi in Keishla’s stead, and even as he spoke them she realized he thought them foolish.
Hesitantly Kevla asked, “Where is she? Yeshi?”
“I banished her,” Tahmu said. “I couldn’t bring myself to order her death. And now, I am glad I didn’t. That is one less thing to blame myself for.” He frowned. “Though there are so many others.”
Kevla chewed on her lip, weighing her words. “Have you seen my mother since the day you took me with you to the House?”
Sorrow settled over his fine features. “No,” he said. “I thought it best not to. I tried to be a good husband to Yeshi.”
She slipped an arm through h
is as they sat next to each other and laid her head on his shoulder. As they regarded the stars just beginning to appear in the sky, she said, “The world has changed, Father. You have changed with it. Would you want to see Keishla again?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes, I would.”
“Then find her.”
He looked at her with unspeakable sadness. “It’s too late for that,” he said heavily. “Far too late. Too late for so many things.”
His eyes fell upon Meli. Sahlik was teaching her how to play Shamizan. Kevla’s own heart ached at the sight.
You like the game, then?
Oh, yes, very much.
I am so glad. I hoped you would.
Her mind returned to the present as Tahmu continued. “I did not have the courage to claim you before, though now I do so with a pride you cannot imagine. I hid you in my house, and I let Yeshi dictate your future. I let you be abused and beaten. When you used your powers to save my life, I ordained your death. I have no excuse but that I thought I was obeying the laws of my people.”
“Great lord, there is no need—”
But Tahmu continued. “A caste system that elevates some and condemns more, that exiles its own children, that walks with hushed step and head bowed in shame does not serve Arukan. It serves Arukan’s enemies. I have seen the future in the eyes of my three children. One of them, I will never see again, and the pain of that—”
His flowing speech came to an abrupt halt as he bit his lip. In a rough voice, he continued.
“The pain of that can only be equaled by the joy I take in having my two daughters returned to me. If you will, if I have not made you ashamed to own me as your father, Kevla Bai-sha will henceforth be known as Kevla-sha-Tahmu, the beautiful daughter of a very proud father.”
Kevla was shocked. Mixed emotions flooded her. Evading the question, she replied, “I cannot stay. I want to. I want to get to know you, to know my little sister. But I have to leave. Arukan may have been able to stand against the Emperor, but the world is still in jeopardy. I must leave and find the other Dancers.”
On Fire’s Wings Page 34
