Freed by Flame and Storm

by Becky Allen

  Nearly no one seemed to be out. He shivered again as he slipped from the park down a street, heading toward the block with Andra’s workshop. The streets were quiet, especially for a night with no rain. Normally, even in a market after hours, there would be people standing around chatting, cleaning their storefronts, trading gossip with each other from the day. Eating and drinking as they walked home. Calling out their windows to one another. Cities were never silent, but tonight, Danardae was as quiet as the Closest.

  He saw why quickly enough: he turned down the street that held Andra’s shop and saw a notice posted. It said that the streets would be patrolled by guards from dusk to dawn, and everyone was encouraged to be home and stay inside. The shops in the market must have all closed early—if they had been open at all. Many of the storefronts looked like they’d been flooded or smashed. Frantic footprints were everywhere, and mud coated everything.

  Even Andra’s shop was in bad shape. The door and windows were hanging open but he couldn’t see any of her wares inside—either she’d taken them somewhere else, or they’d been stolen. There were no lanterns lit, either. Maybe she was in her apartment instead.

  Footfalls came from not too far away. He looked up quickly and saw two robed figures, visibly armed. From a distance and in this darkness he couldn’t be sure, but he suspected they wore guards’ gray, which meant he definitely didn’t want them to bother him. He hurried along and turned onto another block. He’d have to come back and try to find Andra later.

  At least on this block there was a little noise. There was a drinkhouse, still lit and buzzing with people. He slid inside, remembering everything he’d overheard with Lenni. Drunks were always willing to talk. The place was packed, people pushing elbow to elbow, most of them well on their way to drunk. He had to shove his way toward the back, where he could get a drink himself.

  There was no chance of finding an empty cushion along the tables, but that was just as well. He wandered toward the walls, listening to snatches of conversation as he moved. He needed information, after all. He was rewarded quickly. No one in the drinkhouse seemed to want to talk about anything except—

  “Well, we can’t be sure it’s broken, can we? I’d expect it to split the world, if the Curse really broke.”

  “Half the city was on fire. That’s not broken enough?” someone returned. “And it’s just as bad in Kavann. They’re still flooded. Nothing’s getting out that channel, either. I went, I looked. There was a mage, no doubt. Nothing could have done that naturally. It’s all twisted up. Like a rock wall, where there used to be a park. You should look tomorrow. You wouldn’t believe it otherwise.”

  “But they can’t be free,” the first voice returned.

  Elan tried to listen in and get a feel for the speakers without being too obvious. The one who’d actually looked at the channel Jae had torn up was larger, boisterous, holding a mug of what was definitely not his first drink. There was a small crowd listening in. Elan wondered if any of the others had been to the decimated park themselves—or if maybe they were all too scared.

  “If the Curse is really broken,” a woman said, sounding bored—but it was an obvious put-on—“then we’d be at war right now.”

  “You think we aren’t?” the loud drunk returned. “No one’s allowed in or out of the cities. I heard there’s rioting outside. Everyone from all around wants to come in—it’s safe here, but out there, there are bands of Closest roving around, killing anyone they find.”

  That got a round of gasps. Elan took a swallow of the bitter drink he’d been given.

  “How could you even know that?” the woman asked. “If no one can come in, then where are you getting your information?”

  “One of my customers is a guard,” the man said. “And he heard from his boss, who’s a guard captain, that Her Highest says that’s what’s going on. They can’t open the gates for anyone at all, it might be a ploy, an attack. The Closest are out there, all right. They’re killing everyone. But we’re safe.”

  “For how long?” someone else demanded. “What are the Highest doing? My wife is out there—my children! They need help!”

  “And anyway, we’re not safe,” the woman put in, her disbelief forgotten. “If the Closest have a mage, then no wall will keep them out. If they’re out for blood, they won’t stop until they’ve overthrown all four cities!”

  Elan almost couldn’t believe how different this was from the conversation he’d overheard only days ago. It was a different crowd, but still all Twill. Now, none of them were outraged at the Highest for leaving them to their fates in the stone city. None of them were amused by the idea of a mage, or looking for a spectacle.

  Everything had changed. They were all deadly serious, the dissatisfaction Lenni had taken advantage of turned to terror—and its target had turned to the Closest. Elan could feel the rising hysteria crackling in the air around him and took a risk. The biggest drinker’s source was a bit distant, but he seemed to at least have some idea what was happening. That was more than anyone else. Elan cleared his throat to insert himself into the conversation: “Maybe the Highest have a plan? Lady Erra…”

  “All Lady Erra’s got is patrols in the streets, and it’s too late,” he said, voice full of disdain. “Half my cloth was stolen, and she’s not even hearing complaints! Lord Elthis never would have stood for this.”

  No, he wouldn’t have—and the way this man was talking, it was clear that Elthis was gone. When Elan had seen his body hit the ground, that really had been it.

  His father was really dead.

  “I think the Highest have a bit more to worry about than robberies,” someone else said. “If there really is a war beyond the city walls, they’ve got to fight it.”

  The loudest man slammed his now-empty mug down. “I’ll fight it. That’s what I’ve heard they’re saying. They want to raise us all together against the Closest—rid the world of the traitors once and for all, like their ancestors should have done in the first place. I’ll help. And you.” He threw an arm around one of the others. “Your wife’s out there. You’ll join, too. We all will.” He raised his empty cup. “Someone refresh me, so we can drink to it!”

  Elan made himself smile and raise his mug, too, as everyone started talking about that. But his mind was racing, already thinking it through, and he felt a little ill.

  There were hundreds of Closest with Jae, and thousands more across the realm. If they could band together, they’d outnumber the Avowed easily. Their numbers combined with Jae’s magic would win the day easily against the Avowed. But the Twill…

  The Twill’s fear meant they’d want their old world back—that they’d forget that life under the Highest hadn’t been great, either. All it had taken was one change, big enough for everyone to see, and any thoughts of cheering Jae on against the Highest were gone. These people were all ready to join the Avowed.

  The Closest army wouldn’t just be facing the Avowed. They’d have to fight these people, too, and the Twill were nearly as numerous as they were. More Twill than Closest would have experience with weapons, and they’d be following well-trained leaders.

  Which meant the Closest victory was no longer assured. Even if they did win, the cost would be that much higher. The lives lost…

  He’d known everyone had looked down on the Closest. They carried traitors’ blood, they were cursed, they were untrustworthy and chaos barely contained. Elan had felt that way once, too. But he’d never hated the Closest like this.

  Maybe these people hadn’t, either, until the Break. Everything was different now. But maybe it could be fixed, a little, maybe somehow these people could see who was really at fault. If they knew the truth of the War, and knew the Highest had been lying for generations…

  But maybe not. The Highest’s lies were easy to swallow, and the Closest outside the city walls were violent. For good cause—they fought to survive, they fought for freedom—but where the world wasn’t flooded, it was burning. People were afraid.
/>   “Elan?”

  His name was hissed in his ear and he jumped, reaching for the knife he carried under his robe, just in case. But he recognized the smudge of mustache quickly and relaxed. “Osann. You startled me.”

  “That’s obvious,” Osann said, amused, and nodded to the door. “Not safe to say much more in here.”

  Elan followed Osann out. The guards seemed to have passed by, so Elan started back toward Andra’s shop. “You didn’t get out during the Break?”

  “I tried. I couldn’t get to the channel,” Osann said. “I was stuck in the park until…People were terrified but the channel was the only way out. Those of us who managed to get to it before the fire…we had to crawl over the wrecked bridge to get back into Danardae. It was a disaster. There was a riot.”

  Elan shuddered. The survivors would have been angry and terrified, no one would have been quite sure what had happened, and with Elthis dead, the panic would have been even harder to contain.

  The Highest kept the world in order. News of their defeat would have caused as much terror as the idea of freed Closest.

  “Since I couldn’t follow you all out, I fled to Caenn until the rain finally put the fires out and I could get back. How’d you get into the city?”

  “There’s a tunnel, in the park by the Caenn bridge,” Elan said. “You can come back with me, and if we can get word to them, any other members of the Order who were stranded in the city can get out, too.”

  “I’ll stay here, then, for now—spread the word,” Osann said.

  They’d reached the building with Andra’s shop. “I need to stop in here,” Elan said.

  Osann gave him a confused look but didn’t question it. It was easy enough for them to get in through the smashed doors. It was almost funny that the Twill and Avowed disdained the Closest, but they were the ones who’d done this.

  Elan looked around. Andra’s displays were empty, knocked to the ground. The cushions where she’d plied customers with tea and talk were in total disarray. Mud had been tracked in, footprints covered everything. He crouched to look at the overturned table and found a few papers that had fallen from it. Customer orders, at a glance—except the last one. That was in mage script.

  He picked it up and walked to one of the windows, trying to stay out of sight while making use of the light coming in. He wasn’t sure he was successful, but the only noises he heard were distant, so he read slowly and translated as he went.

  No time to write—been summoned to estate house. Will be with Lady E, learn what I can. I don’t know if I will be able to make contact.

  It wasn’t ancient writings. It was a message from Andra, left so they could find it.

  “What’s that?” Osann asked.

  “A letter,” Elan said. “She was trying to get in touch with me.”

  “Ah.” Osann nodded, and Elan went back to reading.

  Lord E dead. Highest just retook Danardae and everyone is talking of war. No word yet but they ARE going to strike. Taking time to plan first, I think. They are afraid of J.

  BE CAREFUL and do not trust anyone left in the city. Twill are rallying behind Highest, everyone is panicked.

  Papers hidden in my bedroll. Keep them safe. Will contact if possible.

  —A.

  Elan slid the paper into his bag and made his way from the shop back and up to Andra’s rooms, leaving Osann behind to keep watch. People had been up here, too—the looting hadn’t been confined to shops. He wondered how many people had been attacked and injured in the midst of it, fighting off their own opportunistic neighbors.

  Though Andra’s sleeping mat had been knocked askew, blankets torn clean off, the thick roll itself was still intact. Elan groped his way over it and finally found a tear, hastily sewn shut. He pulled the stitches loose again and reached inside. It took him a few seconds to find the sheaf of papers.

  More mage script including some of the more ancient texts. They were invaluable, and had nearly been lost. He slid them into his bag, too, grateful Andra had thought to hide them. Though if the Highest knew anything about them, they would have been proof Andra herself was a traitor. She couldn’t afford that any more than the Order—the world—could afford to lose the ancient, hidden truths the pages might contain.

  Elan looked around but didn’t find any other papers, or anything else of value.

  “I need to get back to Jae,” Elan said to Osann, once they’d met back up. “And we need to get the rest of the Order out of the city.”

  “I didn’t know Andra was one of Lenni’s—well, Lenni didn’t like to tell anyone much of anything,” Osann said, a little surprise in his voice. “But I know a few of the others, and since we’ve got a way out of the city now…”

  “Get word to them if you can.”

  “The tunnel’s big enough for everyone to pass through?” Osann asked, as Elan started down a street that would take him back to the park.

  “Jae could make it bigger,” Elan said.

  “I’ll let them know,” Osann said. “We’ll come through when we can—or when I hear from you. Good luck.”

  “And to you,” Elan said, and they parted ways.

  It was a relief to know that their few allies had survived the rioting. Osann and other members of the Order, and Andra, and…Erra, maybe.

  Andra must not have gotten her the letter in time, but maybe it still wasn’t too late. All she’d done so far was try to keep order in Danardae after the riots and fire—he could hardly blame her for that. Andra was with her now; surely Andra had given her the message. All he had to do was find a way to contact them.

  Maybe it was good that Erra had so much power now. Not that he was happy his father had been killed—he didn’t know how he felt about that. Their relationship had been so contentious, and after everything his father had done at Aredann, Elan knew he was a liar—and a killer, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Closest. So maybe he should have been glad his father was gone.

  But he wasn’t. He knew that eventually he’d mourn—not just for his father’s death, but for the death of who he’d believed his father to be. Steadfast and determined and always right. Honest. The father he’d thought he’d had, who he’d loved, even though his father hadn’t thought too highly of him in return.

  They were both gone—Elan’s idealized version and the real man. Which just made reaching Erra and showing her the truth more vital than ever. Elan had lost his naïveté, his title, and his father. He didn’t want to lose his sister, too.

  Jae wandered the captured town after Elan left, so dazed she barely noticed what was going on around her: the rows and rows of people training in every public space who went still as she approached, the Closest hanging out of windows to see her as she passed by, the way the already quiet groups went silent and hushed. There were hundreds upon hundreds of Closest in the town now, but Jae found herself stranded alone in her mind.

  Elan had kissed her.

  Her chest went cold and tight with anxiety just thinking about it. He’d kissed her. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t known it was coming—hadn’t known anything at all except that she was nervous at the idea of him doing something dangerous without her at his side. She wanted to help him and she worried for him, and before she’d had a chance to figure out what that meant, he’d kissed her.

  The panic had hit like a sandstorm, sudden and overwhelming everything, burying her ability to move or even think. She hadn’t known what to say, what to do, what she wanted, and then he’d looked so terrified, his voice had shaken, and…

  She didn’t want him to sound like that. She wasn’t angry but she didn’t know what she was.

  She liked Elan. She trusted him more than anyone else alive—maybe even as much as she’d trusted Tal, as impossible as that seemed. Elan had sacrificed so much because he believed in her; he’d given up everything he’d known, he’d risked his life, he’d fought by her side, he’d followed her into the desert and back.

  Maybe if she’d known what he was
going to do, maybe if she’d expected it, she might not have panicked. But now she was sure he would never do it again—whether she wanted him to or not, which she wasn’t sure about at all.

  He would never do anything to hurt her. It shouldn’t have been so terrifying to imagine him kissing her again—but it was, the thought of his lips on hers, of his hands on her body…

  She tried to lose herself in work but just drifted from task to task for hours: using magic to help grow plants for food, washing and mending because so many of the Closest came with their clothes in rags, assisting in the kitchen. There were no decisions to make while Elan was gone, and she was too anxious to rest. She wanted not just to keep busy, but to be useful.

  “Lady Mage.” Karr’s voice broke through the mist in her mind and she turned her attention to him. He was a large man, with dark skin marred by a still-healing wound on his throat that would eventually scar. He’d been at the Break, freed at the last moment as he’d cut himself, not deep enough or wide enough yet to kill him. He’d been at Jae’s side almost since then, helping her handle all the Closest who needed her, though he had yet to find any of his own family among the masses. “Another group has arrived. If you have a moment, they’d love to see you.”

  She nodded. More and more Closest arrived daily, as the Order’s messengers found them and as rumors about them spread. Jae tried to greet every group that arrived—to assure them she was real, that she was one of them, that she had magic and would wield it on their behalf.

  Karr led her into the estate house’s torch-lit room dining hall. It was the largest room in the house and could probably fit a hundred diners as long as they didn’t mind bumping elbows with one another as they ate. Now it was packed, everyone shoved in so tight Jae could barely make her way up to the head table. She didn’t bother trying to sit, just clambered up on top of it and stared out at them.