Changed By Fire (Book 3)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “That would be Jishun.”

  They turned. The First Mother stood to the side of the fire. There was a distant look in her eyes as she stared into the darkness. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hands stuffed into the long sleeves of the cloak she wore. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, almost giving her an unkempt appearance.

  How long had she been standing there? Had she heard Tan admit that he wasn’t even a shaper?

  “Jishun served as Athan,” he said. “He would have been able to stay close to him, but as Athan, he spoke as the king’s voice. He was the reason Amia was taken. The reason she nearly died.”

  “Instead, he died, did he not?” the First Mother asked.

  “Taken by Incendin,” Tan said.

  The First Mother’s face twisted in a frown. “Taken. Sacrificed. Used to transform into an abomination to the Great Mother.”

  Twisted Fire. The elementals all detested what the lisincend had done to themselves. Could they know what they might become? Could the elementals know the lisincend had the potential to become elementals?

  Tan took Amia’s hand, thinking of how she had been chained inside one of the Aeta wagons. Would she have been the sacrifice instead, or had they some other plan for her? “He earned his fate.”

  “You sound so certain, son of Zephra.”

  “I saw what he did.”

  “Yet you still do not know his mind. Could it be Jishun had a reason for what he did?”

  The First Mother still refused to believe that one of the Aeta could have caused such devastation, but Tan had witnessed what they were capable of doing. He had seen the way they attacked Amia in the archives, how they abducted her when she went with the Aeta. Whatever happened to Jishun was deserved.

  “You taught him,” he said.

  The First Mother took a quick breath, pulling her arms more tightly around herself. “I trained him, as I train all blessed by the Great Mother. Had he been born female, he would likely have replaced me in time.” She looked at Amia. “But his was a different purpose and destiny. He was the most skilled of any I have ever taught. If there was a shaping he made, it would have been done skillfully.”

  “I have sensed the shaping on the king, but it is too complex for me to remove. I began unraveling it—”

  The First Mother shot her a look.

  “But stopped when I saw how deeply it wrapped around his mind.”

  “What will happen if the shaping is not lifted?” Tan asked.

  The First Mother spread her hands out, palms up. “Without knowing the intent of the shaping, I cannot answer.”

  “Could you determine the intent?” Tan asked.

  Her mouth tightened as she considered the request. “Doing so would involve me leaving my People.”

  “You had to leave anyway,” Amia said. She swept her arms around the wagons. “I see preparations beginning. Wheels replaced. Wagons getting hitched. The People and the Gathering are moving.”

  “And do you know the last time the Gathering moved?”

  Amia shook her head.

  “Because it has not moved in your lifetime. This is as settled as the People will ever be. And now we move, uprooting ourselves again.”

  “That is the price we pay for the bargain.”

  The First Mother sniffed. “You speak as if you understand the bargain. Made in a time of fear, it might have protected our people once, but it does nothing but force us to wander. Tell me—would you have settled had you the chance?”

  Amia cast her eyes over Tan. They lingered on his mouth, on his hands. At last, she gave a single nod. “I have settled.”

  The First Mother studied Tan. “With the son of Zephra, you have not settled.”

  A slight smile turned Amia’s mouth.

  “We need to know what Jishun planned. We need to know about the shaping he placed on the king. And if there is any way to remove it,” Tan said.

  “What you ask…”

  “You trained him,” Tan said. “He was of the People.”

  The First Mother sighed. “You speak of things you do not understand, son of Zephra. And now you ask me to bring the Gathering to Ethea?”

  Tan took a step forward. “Not the Gathering. You.”

  She tilted her head and met Tan’s eyes. “As I said, you don’t know what you ask.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But I know what one of your people did to mine. I would think you could recognize the need to make amends.”

  The First Mother stepped up to the fire pit and set her hands on either side of it. “You claim the king as yours?”

  “I claim Amia as mine.”

  The First Mother studied them both. “You would formalize this?”

  Amia stared at the First Mother with an unreadable expression. “I am no longer a Daughter of the People.”

  “Because you took off your mark?” She coughed, eyes looking weary. “You will always be a Daughter, but you will have to choose whether you wish to be Mother.”

  Tan didn’t fully understand what they meant, but now wasn’t the time to fill him in. They had a more pressing matter to attend to. “Will you help the king?”

  The First Mother considered the Aeta working at the wagons or cooking or sewing. None were singing tonight. Few even bothered to speak. The pall over the Aeta was nearly the same as when they had come to Nor, chased out of Incendin by the hounds. “We are the Landless. We are Wanderers. And we have hidden ourselves for hundreds of years. We have kept ourselves away from the politics of nations. Doing so has kept the People safe.” She shifted her gaze back to Tan. “I can’t do what you ask. I can’t leave the People.”

  Disappointment filled him. As it did, the pressure of a massive shaping built.

  He stretched out with his sensing, straining to listen for what happened around him. It wasn’t the First Mother. Her shaping had a different feel. This came from outside the reach of the firelight, and stronger than should have been possible for any one shaper.

  That meant several.

  “Tan?” Amia must have sensed his unease through the connection.

  “Someone shapes nearby,” he said.

  “You have already seen that we have many shapers,” the First Mother said.

  He leaned forward and pinched his forehead as he considered. “This is different. Earth. Wind. Fire?”

  A chill worked down his back. If they were kingdoms’ shapers, he should have known. They would have announced themselves in some way and wouldn’t have any reason to come upon the Aeta by surprise.

  The shaping continued to build.

  Now he felt it beneath his feet. The earth trembled lightly, enough for him to sense. He could tell from Amia’s face that she felt nothing. Shaped wind whipped down through the trees, sending the scant flames in the huge fire pit dancing with more intensity. And then the fire leapt toward the sky, fed by another sudden shaping.

  Tan jumped to his feet. “You need to end this!”

  Amia’s eyes widened and she tried looking everywhere at once. “I can’t tell where they are.”

  The First Mother took Amia’s hand. “Come, Daughter, we will work this shaping together.”

  The shaping continued to build. If Tan did nothing, it would strike soon.

  With a quick whisper to the wind, he asked it to fall silent. Ara was fickle and playful, but listened to his request. He stomped a foot onto the ground, calling golud’s attention, and the elemental silenced the rumbling within the earth.

  The effort of the two nearly wiped him out. After working with the First Mother throughout the day, trying to shape spirit, he was left weakened. Even simple requests of the elementals were almost too much.

  The fire twisted, spiraling as it raced toward them.

  He spoke to it as he spoke to the draasin.

  Nothing happened.

  It was then Tan realized the fire didn’t come for him. It came for the First Mother.

  Like a bolt of lightning, it streaked toward her.

&
nbsp; Amia stood next to her. She would be hit by it, too.

  Tan jumped.

  The flame struck his chest. As it did, he had no choice but to pull the flame—the shaping feeding the flame—inside of himself.

  Searing pain seared through him, nothing like he had ever experienced before.

  Everything felt raw. He screamed.

  The fire snaked toward his mind. Part of him recognized that if it reached its goal, what remained of him would be destroyed.

  He pushed against the fire but was too weak to hold it back.

  Asboel!

  He cried out the draasin’s name, unmindful of who among the Aeta might hear him. He felt a faint stirring and he sent the shaping through the bond, toward the draasin.

  And then he collapsed.

  The pain burning in him eased somewhat, barely enough for thought.

  I warned you. Dangerous.

  Asboel admonishing him hurt almost as much as the smoldering fire he felt within his veins, in his mind.

  The Daughter…

  I will come.

  Not yet. Tan couldn’t let Asboel see him like this. That was not how he would maintain the bond.

  I care not for appearance, Maelen. You and I share—

  Tan didn’t get the chance to know what he would say; a shaping washed over him, a shaping he was unprepared for.

  All the elements converged on him: water and wind and earth and fire. The last he felt most strongly, as if drawn to it. Without meaning to, he pulled the fire shaping into him again.

  This time, he felt nothing. It was as if he was already numb, yet he sensed fire easily.

  He opened his eyes, his gaze drawn to the fire pit. The flames swirled in a funnel, working their way toward the First Mother and Amia. The ground trembled, shaking beneath them. A storm raged overhead, too violent to be anything but shaped. But it was fire that called to him most strongly.

  It sang to him, almost demanding he reach for it.

  Rage worked through him. They had been attacked, again and again. Each time, he felt helpless.

  Not this time. This time, he could use fire. He might not have the control Cianna wanted him to master, but he had the strength. He could twist the flames to his will.

  He forced a shaping, turning the fire away from them, pushing it out toward the trees.

  Distantly, he recognized his shaping was different than before. This time, it came from within.

  Someone yelled.

  The earth’s rumbling ceased. The earth shaper had fallen. Tan felt no remorse. Nothing but hot and angry rage boiled within him.

  Wind still threatened to steal the fire from him, trying to push it down. The wind shaping felt weak and he traced it to where he knew the shaper to be. With a force of a shaping, he sent fire at the shaper. A cry rang out and quickly fell silent.

  How many shapers had come?

  Tan didn’t dare release the energy of the fire shaping. He couldn’t if he wanted to. The flames danced around him—within him—and he pushed it out, letting the fire he felt burning inside roar away from him.

  Another shaper fell and the storms silenced. The water shaper.

  That left only fire.

  Holding onto fire, Tan sensed the shaper, tracing along the shaping that tried to wrest control away from him. Wrapped as he was within fire, they could no more take fire from him than he could have let it go.

  With another push, he sent the flames back at the fire shaper, pushing out and away in an angry torrent of flame, filling the shaper with so much fire, his opponent couldn’t sustain the shaping and was consumed by it. A burst of light down the slope was his reward.

  He turned, looking for another shaper. Incendin must have sent another, and now that he embraced fire, now that it consumed him, he would use everything he had against them.

  But the night was silent other than the crackling of flames.

  Tan considered what the fire was doing to him. Heat shimmered from skin that had turned a flaming red. His clothes had burned away, now cracked and fallen to the ground. He held out his hands. Steam rose from them.

  What had he done? What had he become?

  He tried releasing his connection to fire, but he couldn’t. It called to him, seductive and strong—stronger than his will to resist. All he had to do was pull more fire within him, draw in the shaping, and he could serve fire more fully. The shaping was easy; he sensed what he needed to do, if only he was willing to reach…

  A lancing pain shot through his mind. A shaping of spirit.

  He had released his protections. Why would the First Mother attack him?

  Unless she had planned this. Could all this have been her intent? She sent the Aeta to the kingdoms to become archivists. She had tried drawing Amia to the Gathering, letting Jishun and the archivists abduct her. She had drawn him to the Gathering, forcing him to pull fire into him in an attempt to save the Aeta.

  All of this was her choosing, her way of removing Tan from Amia. He would not let her.

  He built a shaping, readying to send it toward the First Mother. All he needed was a single burst of flame—a single shaping that he had seen before—and he could destroy her, keep her from harming him anymore.

  The shaping twisted in his mind, forcing him to release fire. Only then did he realize what happened. It was Amia who shaped him.

  He turned to her with anger still burning inside.

  Amia’s face was a mask of emotions, none of which came through the shaped bond very clearly.

  Anger coursed through him. Why would she stop him as he fought back Incendin, especially now that he finally had the strength to oppose them? She had experienced the same loss at Incendin as him, losing everything—her family, her home, and her entire life taken by the lisincend. Now that he had found the strength to fight…

  Stop!

  She sent it as a command, shaping through him.

  Fire called to him, but distantly and with less urgency than before. He didn’t know if he could reach it if he tried. Worse, the sense of the draasin was a muted itch in his mind, shielded from him.

  Tan turned, looking at the Aeta around him. Most hid, having run for protection when the attack began. Those who remained stared at him.

  But it was the look Amia gave him that hurt the most. She watched him with an expression of sadness and pain.

  Tan followed her glance over his body. His skin had changed, leaving him looking more like one of the lisincend than himself.

  What had he done?

  Amia hesitated and then came over to him. She hesitantly touched his arm but jerked her hand away. Tan felt nothing where she touched him.

  “Tan…” The pain in her voice pierced through the remaining anger he felt.

  “I only wanted to stop Incendin.” His voice was rough and painful, so different than he remembered.

  “You did. They won’t harm us again.”

  He swallowed and nodded. At the back of his mind, anger tried pushing back in, almost as if it wanted to draw fire with it. “What did I do?”

  The First Mother stepped over to him. Her eyes were hard. “You began a transformation.”

  “I didn’t… I only wanted to protect Amia…”

  But he knew what had happened, had felt it each time he pulled fire and the shaping within him, drawing it away from Amia. Fire burned away part of him, leaving him raw and changed, pulling him closer to fire, but destroying him at the same time.

  “What have I become?”

  The First Mother took a deep breath before pursing her lips into a thin line. “Nothing yet. But you have changed.”

  Changed. Like the lisincend. Like the Incendin fire shaper who wanted to become more like the draasin. Tan had begun a similar change. With it, he felt the draw of fire. It would be so easy to reach for it, shape it. Nothing like the difficulty he had before.

  It was not the only change he felt.

  No longer could he easily sense everything around him. The wind did not pull at his hair. And
if he lost the sense of earth and wind, likely water had left him, too. Changing with fire had sacrificed his ability to use the other elements.

  He might not have been a shaper like those of the kingdoms, but he had a connection to the elementals. Whatever he had done had damaged that connection, possibly severing it permanently. That loss hurt more than anything.

  “What can I do?”

  “There is no longer anything you can do, son of Zephra. You serve fire now.”

  “No,” Amia said. “There must be something we can do, some way of saving him.”

  The First Mother started away. “You sacrificed yourself for the Aeta, Tan. For that, I will do what I can to help your king. But there is nothing more for you that can be done.”

  18

  THE DRAW OF FIRE

  Darkness had fallen around the forest, but Tan saw with a different light. Hints of red and oranges radiated from the trees. Birds, glowing with a soft internal light, perched on branches. A squirrel scurrying overhead leapt in a blur of red. Even his eyesight had changed.

  He stood alone, uncertain what to do next. Transformed by his shaping, he was more lisincend than anything. The sense of anger burned within him, begging for release. The only way for him to release the rage was through fire.

  It ate at him, seething through his skin. Heat radiated out from him, shimmering against the night, shielding him.

  “You should go with her.”

  He faced Amia as she approached. He had sensed her coming—had somehow smelled the heat of her body as she approached. The bond shaped between them was still there, but twisted. Without it, he suspected the anger working through him would overwhelm him.

  “You need me.”

  Tan grunted. “I need nothing.”

  “Tan—”

  The transformation had damaged him, but he could not deny that it had strengthened him as well. For the first time, he felt as if a shaping would come easily. All he had to do was twist the heat he felt around him, the heat he saw around him, and it would respond. Why shouldn’t he revel in this ability?

  And powered by fire, couldn’t he stop the lisincend? He could help Roine and his mother as they worked against Incendin. They might have served fire longer than Tan, but he had a connection to the draasin. That connection would make him more powerful. Probably powerful enough to stop the lisincend altogether.