Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

  Inken’s hand brushed the hilt of her sword. Its leather grip felt reassuring, although hostility from the crew did not worry her. She was confident Caelin and herself could handle them if it came to it. After facing demons and Magickers, Inken would almost cherish a fair fight.

  It was the aftermath she worried about, when they would be left stranded at sea. None of them knew how to sail a dingy, let alone a ship.

  Behind her, silence blanketed the cabin. Inken sighed. Its only occupant was the girl, Enala. She had yet to speak a single word. It was past time that changed. They had to reach her, bring her back from the brink of whatever crevice she teetered on.

  Inken gave a wry smile. The men did not have a clue about how to go about the task, so it seemed it would be up to her. It would be easier now. Before, in the cove, the fear of Eric’s death had weighed on her mind.

  She sat there a few minutes more, enjoying the warmth and closeness of Eric’s body. How the young man had wormed his way into her heart remained a mystery, but she was not about to let him go now. The ship offered little privacy for a couple – the crew slept in hammocks beneath the deck while their company squeezed into the small cabin with the captain – so she had to savour every little moment.

  Finally, she lifted Eric’s head from her lap and tucked a rolled up jerkin underneath him for a pillow.

  Eric stirred, his blue eyes flashing as they opened to watch her. “Where are you going?”

  Inken leaned down and kissed him, lingering as their tongues met. It was a while before she pulled away. “I want to check on Enala. You get some sleep. We need you well rested.”

  Eric yawned and nodded, closing his eyes again.

  Inken grinned and stood, climbing down from the crate and walking back to the cabin door. Pulling it open, she made her way into the darkness within. A single candle provided the only source of light in the small room, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust. A desk was crammed into the rear corner, making way for the sleeping rolls they’d squeezed into the cabin. A single bed took up the other wall.

  Enala lay curled up on the bed, covers drawn around her head with only a few tuffs of blond hair showing. The covers shook as the door swung closed, and a half-choked sob came from the darkness. It was the only noise the girl had made for two days.

  Inken moved across and sat on the foot of the bed. The pile of blankets grew still, so Inken scooted back on the mattress and leaned against the wall. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she sat in the darkness, contemplating what to say.

  What could she say to this girl? In less than two weeks Enala had witnessed the brutal murder of her parents, the death of a friend, and the loss of the dragon she rode. Never mind the revelation that the ancient evil known as Archon was hunting her, wanted her dead.

  It was too much for anyone to take, let alone a seventeen-year-old girl. Inken doubted she had the strength to cope any better – she would be in the same position as Enala if their positions were reversed.

  Even so, Enala had to know she was not alone anymore. For Inken herself, the search for Enala had never been about the Sword of Light, but a girl who needed protection from evil. She had to convince Enala that, though they were strangers, they cared about her. She had to convince her to trust them.

  Inken released a long breath as she realised she had no idea where to start. She chuckled, and decided not to mention to the others she was as clueless as them. Still, she had to try something.

  Closing her eyes, Inken began to talk.

  She began with the trivial, the mundane. She spoke of the white mare she had purchased just a few short weeks before, and how absurd she’d felt riding such a conspicuous animal. A bounty hunter riding a white horse would be the talk of the town – not an ideal situation for a profession requiring subtly. She spoke of her debt back in Chole, the cost of her equipment, her old friends and what they must think of her now, after she’d betrayed them to rescue Eric and the others.

  Then Inken spoke of her childhood, of the time her mother finally decided she’d had enough. Cold to the end, the woman had walked away without looking back. Not a kiss or a hug goodbye for the five-year-old she left behind, just a wave and a door slammed in her face.

  From then on it had been just Inken and her father.

  And things had only grown worse. Her father was a notorious drunk, and with her mother gone his attention soon turned to Inken. He often returned drunk in the early afternoon, unleashing strings of profanities which quickly disintegrated into screaming fits; the kind that shook the walls and led to knocks on the door from neighbours. In his drunken rage, the man blamed Inken for everything from her mother’s desertion, to their poverty.

  Inken learned to keep her mouth shut in those early years. Eventually the neighbours stopped knocking.

  For years Inken had suffered his insults, his curses and threats. She had grown thick skinned, deaf to all but the worst of his curses.

  But on the first day he hit her, the ten-year-old Inken had walked out the door and never looked back.

  Hot tears spilt from Inken’s eyes and ran down her face. In all her years, she had never told a soul about her past. She had always thought of it as just that – her past, nobody’s business but her own. She could not imagine what made her speak of it now. Not even Eric knew the story of her parents.

  She heard a rustling come from the other end of the bed and tried not to look. She glimpsed movement from the corner of her eye, and then Enala was curling up beside her, lips still pursed tight. The young girl pulled the covers up around them and leaned her head against Inken’s shoulder.

  Inken stretched out her arm and wrapped it around the girl. They sat in silence for a while, each contemplating the various horrors which were their lives. Inken had lived on the streets for most of her teenage years, but she did not regret her decision to leave. She smiled to herself, thinking of the convoluted path she’d taken to become a bounty hunter.

  But that was a story for another day.

  “We may not seem like much, Enala, but we are all here for you,” she whispered.

  Enala wriggled closer. “How do you know?”

  “They’re like me. Eric, Caelin, Michael, they’re good people. They want to help you, help everyone in the Three Nations. You can trust them.”

  Inken caught a flash of blue eyes in the darkness. “I hope so,” she heard Enala’s soft voice.

  “You can,” Inken repeated, then. “Are you hungry?”

  For the first time Enala met her eyes. “Bloody starving,” she flashed a smile.

  Inken laughed. “I’ll be right back.”

  *************

  “What’s going on here?” Caelin looked up as Michael interrupted his argument with the captain.

  Captain Loris scowled at the doctor. “None of your business.”

  Caelin raised an eyebrow. “None of his business? I think the good doctor would be just as upset as the rest of us were you to abandon us on some deserted beach.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” the captain snapped. “The crew are an inch from mutiny. God or no, that thing almost sank us. And he was clearly not fond of the bunch of you. The men are scared.”

  “I don’t think he’s coming back,” Michael put in. “He was looking for his sister, Antonia, and I can assure you we don’t have the Goddess of the Earth tucked up our sleeves,” he waved at the wide sleeves of his coat with a smile.

  “That’s all well and good, but the crew don’t know what’s going on. And from what I’ve heard, the less we tell them about the whole affair, the better,” he shook his head. “They won’t stand for this. This is your fight. I cannot risk the lives of my crew for your affairs. We are only simple fishermen.”

  Michael spread his hands. “And I am only a priest. Caelin is only a soldier. We are all only something, but this fight goes beyond who and what we are. It doesn’t matter to Archon; to him we are just souls waiting to be enslaved.”

  Caelin glanced at the resolve o
n the doctor’s face. Michael’s words warmed his heart, gave him hope.

  But the captain wasn’t having any of it. His brow drew down into a scowl as he glared at them. “Archon or no, it’s you who are a threat to our lives just now. Won’t matter a jot whether Archon comes or not if we’re at the bottom of the ocean.”

  Anger swamped Caelin. He swore. “If you abandon us in the middle of nowhere, you risk the lives of everyone in the Three Nations,” he took a breath. “This is your chance to be more than just fisherman, to make a difference in this world.”

  “And what about our world? Who will pay our wages if we lose our cargo? Who will feed our wives and family if the ship sinks?”

  Caelin wanted to shake the man. Michael interrupted before he got the chance. “We understand your concern, Loris, and the concerns of your men. I assure you, you will be safe. Jurrien will not return, nor any other vengeful spirit. And if its money that concerns you, then perhaps we could come to an arrangement?”

  “What?” Caelin and Loris asked in unison.

  The captain glanced at Caelin and then continued. “What sort of payment? A priests blessing is all well and good, but it doesn’t pay the bills.”

  Michael smiled. “The temples of the God’s are not rich, but I am sure they have a few spare funds to reward the ship that provided us safe passage to Lon.”

  Caelin swallowed, wondering whether Michael was bluffing. If so, this was one man he did not want to play poker with.

  The captain grunted. “And what about our safe passage? It would have to be a hefty sum to convince my men to continue with this business.”

  Michael grinned. “Gold is a strong motivator, I believe.”

  Straightening his shoulders, Michael began to negotiate with the captain what they considered a ‘reasonable’ price for their passage. Caelin could only shake his head in wonder. He had not seen this side of Michael before. Until now the doctor had been withdrawn, and Caelin had assumed him to be a fearful and timid man.

  Now he found his first assessment to be changing quickly. With his priestly upbringing, Michael might never be a fighter, but there was clearly more to the man than the green robe of his order.

  Ten minutes later Caelin joined Michael at the railing, their passage to Lon assured. At least for now. They stood in silence for a while, staring out at the jagged coastline sweeping past them. A gull skimmed the waves, its high pitched caw carrying across the water.

  Caelin glanced at Michael. “That was well done,” he hesitated. “Is it true though, will the temple in Lon really pay?”

  Michael smiled, running a hand through his greying hair. “I think so.”

  Caelin laughed, but Michael continued. “It’s at least standard practice for the Earth Temples to have a stock of gold available to aid those doing Antonia’s work. I can only assume the Sky Temples would be the same,” he laughed himself. “Perhaps they even have a store to cover damages when the Storm God loses his temper.”

  Caelin chuckled. “I hope that was not a common occurrence.”

  Michael’s face darkened. “I doubt it. Whatever is happening with Antonia, it must be serious. For Jurrien to lose control like that… I mean, his temper does have a reputation, but even so...”

  Caelin glanced at the burnt timber at the bow of the ship. “Agreed.”

  Silence fell again. A sadness came over Michael’s face. “I’ve been thinking; it might be best if I were to stay in Lon.”

  “What?” Caelin glanced at the doctor. “Why?”

  “I don’t know what part I can play in the coming battle. I am not a fighter,” Michael echoed Caelin’s earlier thoughts. “I do not want to hold you back. Elynbrigge asked me to join you, but I don’t know–”

  “The choice is up to you, Michael,” Caelin interrupted. “But I believe we all have a place in this company. You may not have magic, but you are a doctor, and a diplomat, apparently. There is no telling when we might need your skills. We need more than fighters on this quest.”

  Michael drew in a breath and nodded. “I will think on it.”

  They both looked up as the door to the cabin opened. Inken appeared, smiling in the afternoon sunshine. She moved across to join them.

  “They’ll take us as far as Lon, but it’s going to cost the Sky temple an eye and a leg.”

  “That’s good news,” Inken’s smile widened. “I have some news of my own. Enala is hungry.”

  They gaped at her. Inken laughed at their shock. “Do you think these sailors could be convinced to part with some supplies?”

  Caelin grinned, feeling a little of the weight shift from his soul. Finally, some good news. With Alastair’s death and Antonia’s disappearance, it had begun to feel as though things were spinning out of control. If Enala recovered, they would at least have one thread of hope to cling too.

  “For the amount of gold we’ve promised, she can have a feast is she wants,” Caelin spun and marched towards the captain.

  A cry from the rigging stopped him in his tracks.

  “Man overboard!”

  *************

  The tree branch rose beneath him as the wave swept past, carrying him high into the air. He looked around, desperate for a glimpse of land, but the ocean stretched out in all directions. Swells rolled across the dark blue water, white wash breaking at their tips. Sea spray misted the air, cutting off sight of the horizon.

  The soft lapping of water against his log rocked him towards sleep. He struggled to hang on, just a little bit longer, but his strength had long since faded. Only minutes separated him from the dark depths of the ocean now. Soon he would slip beneath the waves, never to be seen again.

  Gabriel swallowed, his mouth paper dry from the long hours in the salty water. He prayed his sacrifice had distracted the dragon long enough for Enala to escape. Otherwise his death would mean nothing.

  A shiver racked his body as he remembered the beast; the gaping jaws, the teeth and crackling of flames as the dragon hurtled towards him. The deafening snap of its wings, the roar that sent prickles of terror running down his spine.

  Knowing he had no chance on the surface, Gabriel had released his rotten branch and dived deep into the river. The current whirled him around, dragging his helpless body deeper as the dragon’s bulk smashed into the river. A talon tore at his coat, ripping the skin beneath, and then the river had carried him from reach.

  Lungs exploding, Gabriel clawed his way to the surface. In the muddy waters he struggled to tell the difference between up and down, and panic threatened to overwhelm him. Then his head burst into the sunlight.

  He drew in one ragged breath before the current pulled him back under. The power of the river sent him tumbling head over heels. A rock struck his thigh, then knee and shoulders. Gabriel screamed, air gushing in bubbles from his mouth. He kicked out, desperate to reclaim the surface.

  The next time he broke free he grasped at the water, desperate to stay afloat. He glanced around, searching the sky for sign of the red scaled dragon. A roar came from the distance, but he could see nothing through the canopy of tree branches overhanging the river.

  The trees on either side of the river rushed past as the current grew faster. He struggled against its pull, fighting to reach the far shore, but there was no making headway against the rivers might. At last, gasping for breath, he rolled onto his back and let the current take him.

  Branches flashed past overhead, sunlight glinting between them. Golden leaves hung from the trees, breaking lose and tumbling with each gust of the wind. The freezing water spoke of winters fast approach. With it would come the freeze, and months of hardship for the people of the land. At least it rarely snowed in Oaksville.

  Oaksville, the name rung in his mind, carrying with it the image of a man standing before a raging forge, hammer in hand.

  My father, he realised with crystal certainty.

  He saw himself then, standing at his father’s side, arms up to their elbows in thick leather gloves. Heat washed over him
, bringing with it the ring of a hammer on iron bars, the roar of the gallows as they worked the forge.

  As he drifted down the river, one by one his memories returned to him. His proposal to his fiancée, the day the old soldier had given his father a sword. The horror of the storm, of finding all he had loved destroyed, his family dead. His fiancée’s last painful breaths. The agony washed over him anew, pulling him down into the darkness.

  The demon.

  He remembered the demon and its wolf, his slow decent into madness. His heart twisted with a brand new pain as he saw his murder of the guardsman at the gates of Chole. Guilt swept through him. He was no better than the two he had hunted.

  Then he stood outside Enala’s house, and he knew what came there. The discovery of her murdered parents, and the girl herself hiding in the basement. The fight with the terrified Enala, then their battle with the demon wolf. The flight from Chole, the days of trekking through the wilderness, all the way to the Onyx River.

  And there, the red dragon.

  By the time he returned from his memories the trees had vanished. Cliffs rose on either side of the river, funnelling the waters through a narrow gorge. The current picked up speed, leaving him battling to keep his head above the water. A heavy object knocked into him. He fumbled at the log, gasping as he pulled himself atop it.

  Collapsing onto the sodden wood, he clung to its broken branches, overcome by the cold and exhaustion. The water turned white as it raced over hidden rocks. The log rocked as it bounced off unseen objects. Gabriel lay shivering, the cool wind providing little relief from the icy waters. He battled to stay conscious.

  He could not remember when the log had finally left the river and drifted out to sea. The cliffs had continued all the way to the coast, hemming in the raging river. Eventually Gabriel had drifted into a kind of half-sleep, his arms still clutching at the log while his mind drifted.

  Then the sky had widened as the rocky cliffs gave way to… nothing. When Gabriel raised his head to look around, he found himself drifting on the ocean, the cliffs of the shoreline already growing smaller.