by J. M. Lee
Amri jumped when Tae stepped forward. Her hair was a brilliant gold in the rising sun, rippling with pinks and reds. She touched Ethri’s shoulder, this time holding her fast with a gentle hand.
“Onica is right,” Tae said. “How long has the hearth been cold? Ethri, please. Light the flames of the old ways there. Look into the fires as we used to.”
Ethri opened her mouth to protest but stopped when Staya stepped forward.
Then the Sifa to his left. Then another, and another.
“Come, Ethri,” Tae said. “Just one last time, unafraid. Let us at least know we asked. If you ask the flames, if you listen, we will follow you to the ends of the earth.”
Ethri became young again—became herself for just a moment—as she watched the Sifa join hands before her. One green eye was weary with fear, the other a crystal stone shining with hope.
“And if the flames say we flee?” she whispered.
Onica approached the fire and held out her hand, beckoning.
“Then we will heed the sign,” she said. “And we will heed it together.”
The Sifa parted around Maudra Ethri as she walked to the hearth fire. Onica waited for her, hands open and palms filling with sunlight. Ethri took the Far-Dreamer’s hands and sighed, as if she’d come home after a long journey.
“Then join with me, my beloved Sifa,” Ethri said. “And you, who carry out Aughra’s task. Let us see what the future brings.”
CHAPTER 13
Amri stood at Naia’s side as they joined Onica. Feeling something greater than himself begin to overcome the rushing of the wind and the crashing of the waves against the Omerya’s hull.
Ethri stood at the hearth in the center of the deck. It was made of the same coral as the rest of the ship, reinforced with stone and black from ages of use. But the coals had been cold for a long time and Ethri knelt to touch the black dust that coated it.
Tae came to her shoulder. She had a small bundle of herbs in hand, tied with miniature versions of the knots Amri had seen everywhere on the Omerya and even on Onica’s ship. Ethri took the bundle and split it, giving half back to Tae. She held her own half against her palm, closing her eyes until her hand glowed blue. Smoke wafted from where the bundle touched her skin, filling the air with the savory scent.
Onica took her own bundle from within her cloak. She and Tae followed Ethri, and soon three blue-gray trails of smoke cut like pathways into the sky. Onica led them in the ritual, raising her hands over her head and drawing mystic symbols in the air with the smoke of the smoldering herbs. Triangles and spheres, spirals and many other shapes. Amri saw the signs of the moons and the suns, the sigils of the wind and fire, earth and rain. Ethri and Tae mirrored Onica, the maudra’s motions reserved at first but warming with every passing moment.
“Deatea. Deratea. Kidakida. Arugaru. We open our souls to the fire. We open our minds to the wind. We open our hearts to the water. We open our hands to the earth.”
Onica lowered the smoldering herbs, drawing a line of smoke from the four directions down into the hearth. She let go, and the bundles lit up in flame, falling like three comets. When they touched the ancient kindling at the bottom of the hearth, all went silent.
Amri held his breath. He wondered if the prayer had failed.
Smoke rose from the depths of the hearth. Fragile at first, like a dying whisper.
Then heat. The smoke blew away, replaced with the clear, hot air of a growing fire. Within moments, the hearth beat again. The hearth of the ship, the heart of the Sifa. Amri joined them as they gathered closer, taking in the warmth, holding out their hands as if they might grasp the radiant flames themselves.
The scent of the herbs was deep now, consumed by the flames. Amri breathed them in, his head filling with space. Stars and suns and moons, the sigils Onica had drawn, drifting in and out of his mind. He closed his eyes and breathed, feeling Naia’s hand in his.
Onica’s voice rose from the quiet, one with the crackling fire. She did not speak words. The song from her throat was wordless, harmonious. Amri opened one eye to see her, head tilted back, crimson hair alight with the red of the fire. Her song changed, as if she herself were transformed—one moment a Sifa, Gelfling as the rest of them—the next, a different being, made of dreams.
She bowed her head to face the fire, eyes open, seeing all and nothing. All were silent.
“A hero stands before the hearth fire of the Gelfling. But not alone. From the darkness that surrounds him comes . . . Wind. Lightning. Light. Earth, Shadow, Water . . . Fire.”
Onica’s brows crinkled in pain, a tear escaping. Her voice was transparent, rippling, not her own. Amri listened, rapt. Saw Ethri and Tae, Naia and Kylan doing the same, every breath hanging on the Far-Dreamer’s words.
“Great trials face us. Pain and loneliness, I see . . . Seven maudra. Seven of seven. Bearing the fires. Wind, Lightning, Light. Earth, Shadow, Water, Fire. In this way, the Seven become One. By Gelfling hand, or else by . . .”
The fire heaved. A vision consumed Amri like a living creature, swallowing his mind. He saw the hearth fire, the silhouette of a Gelfling standing before it, something glowing white from within his fist. The fire of the hearth flickered, struggling to push back the darkness.
From beyond came voices. Voices in song, like instruments. Wind and lightning, a blazing star in the sky. Out of the shadows came Gelfling, bearing torches against the shadows.
And behind them all was a wall, engulfed in flame.
Amri gasped when the vision faded, mind reeling. The flames receded, and Onica opened her eyes. She had returned to herself, swaying slightly before righting, drawing in a deep breath.
“I was there . . . We all are,” Ethri murmured. “At the hearth fire.”
They had all seen it, then. The Gelfling emerging from the dark, joining before the hearth and thrusting in their flames so the fire blazed brighter. Amri couldn’t shake the vision from his mind. He didn’t want to. He’d heard those voices before, in the dream-space. When the fire had brightened, he’d seen some of their faces. Recognized them, though he’d never met them. At least not in this life.
Hand upon hand linked together, and Ethri closed her eyes, pulling a deep draw of breath.
“My Sifa,” she said. “My heart breaks with grief that I nearly let you down. Forgive me . . . I will stay, if you will stay by my side. So that we may stay by the side of the others who stand against the darkness. For Thra.”
Tae lifted her hand to the sky, Ethri’s fingers entwined in hers.
“For Thra,” she said.
All at once, the hands of the Sifa rose like wildfire.
A pillar of flame exploded from the hearth, sparks showering in a rainbow of colors. The fire burned in every color under the three suns, the whistling and howling of the air as it fed the flames resonating with a familiar, bone-deep song. Kylan’s firca rang on its own as the wind tore around the deck, sucked up into the brilliance of cascading colors.
Light melted across the deck below their feet, carving and etching the forms of letters and images. Amri saw the ship Omerya, a Sifa with wild hair and a crystal eye. A Far-Dreamer and a storm, a behemoth ship lurking below the waves. It was the story that had brought them to this place, to light this fire. The song of the Sifa fire, lit aboard the living coral tree in the bay of Cera-Na.
When the fire calmed, turning orange and red again, the deck was stunned to silence. Amri’s face still felt warm where it had been bathed in the light, though his eyes hadn’t stung in its brightness. The ring of Gelfling broke hands, the Sifa in awe of what had happened and the proof that remained all around them.
“Fires of resistance,” Onica whispered, reading the dream-etchings on the deck. “Gelfling, made of vliya. The blue fire, the life essence of Thra . . . We have seen this fire in dreams.”
Ethri looked upon the etchings, understanding th
em. She saw herself in them, and the recognition lit something within her, even brighter than the flame in the hearth. A gust of wind blew her hair back, fanning the fire in her eyes.
She strode back to the foredeck, giving orders to bring Omerya back into the bay. Though the ship had barely tasted the waters of the Silver Sea, it heeded commands without complaint, as if relieved. Tae commanded the crew, flying high into the sails and lines. As the Omerya came about, it picked up speed, rushing back into the arms of the land it had never wanted to leave.
“First the Vapra and now the Sifa . . . ,” Amri said. “That’s two of the seven clan fires lit already. I can’t believe it!”
“Only five more to go,” Naia agreed with a grin.
They looked up as Ethri joined them. For the first time since they’d been in Cera-Na, she seemed like two halves made whole: a maudra, proud and valiant leading her clan, and her youthful self. The Ethri that Onica had known and brought back to life.
“Maudra Ethri,” Naia said, stepping forth. “Thank you.”
They clasped hands. For a moment Amri saw two maudra standing on the deck. The faces of the new leaders that might be able to save their world. He wondered what Maudra Argot would think, if she had been there.
“The Sifa flame warms your back,” Ethri said. “When it is time to rise against the Skeksis, we will be ready. Ready to heed your call, to join against them wherever that battle may take place. Where do you travel next?”
“I don’t know yet. Where the wind takes us.”
“Then may it fill your wings.”
“And yours. I know you were afraid of being the first to rise. But what we were trying to tell you is that the Vapra fire is already lit. By All-Maudra Mayrin, in Ha’rar. And now there are two fires burning . . .” Naia glanced at Amri, then back to the Sifa maudra. “You know, Maudra Argot of the Grottan was actually the first to hear our story and believe. And because of it, they were struck down. They lost their home. They’ve been in the dark and cold, alone. Waiting to know the other clans are out there . . . and now, you are part of their hope. Your fires will guide them . . . You are not alone, and now, neither are they.”
Amri shivered. Ethri took in what Naia had said, then looked to him, understanding falling on her fair face. Almost like in a dreamfast, she realized who he was. Where he’d come from, and why. Perhaps she’d mistaken him for a Vapra, or perhaps he’d been invisible to her altogether, but now she looked right into him, and her brow cracked with remorse.
“You have a name, Shadowling?” Ethri asked.
“Amri.”
He stiffened when she held her hand toward him, then swallowed the ball of emotions in his throat as he took her palm in his. With her free hand, she pointed at her gem eye, then the other.
“I see you now, Amri. And I will remember.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I mean, thank you, Maudra.”
She chuckled.
“Please. Call me Captain.”
As they said their other goodbyes and made their way to the gangplank, Amri stole a last look out into the ocean. Somewhere beneath the waves, Lord skekSa captained her terrible behemoth, overwhelming even the dark of the sea. Soon she would realize the Sifa had changed their minds—if she hadn’t already. What would she do when she found out? Would she be angry, or would she show nothing on that shrewd face of hers? If she were truly separate from the rest of the Skeksis, prepared to live out her life beyond the shadow of the castle, perhaps it wouldn’t matter to her if Ethri and the Sifa had decided to resist the Skeksis.
Either way, there was no way for Amri to know. Ethri would be the one to face skekSa, but if there was anyone now who could, it was the Sifa maudra.
They descended to the main dock. Sifa deboarded around them, breaking out into song and dance with torches in their hands, alight with colored dust.
Onica guided them down to the dock and paused when Kylan cleared his throat. In the rush of the growing celebration, Amri had almost forgotten that they had one more farewell to make. Onica was Sifa. She had only been their guide to Cera-Na, yet Amri’s heart ached at the thought of saying goodbye, of returning to their journey without her.
Kylan held Tavra out. Her arachnid body twinkled, blue the color of an unspent tear.
“I must go with Naia,” she said. “But I will not forget our promise—”
Onica interrupted her with a sweet laugh. “Don’t be daft, my Silverling. You think I would let you go to light the seven fires of resistance without me?”
Onica’s grin was contagious. For a precious moment, their daunting task of uniting the Gelfling clans against the Skeksis and the cracked Crystal were nothing but wisps of clouds in the sky. Amri looked across his friends’ faces—Drenchen, Spriton, Sifa, Vapra—then down at his Grottan hands. Five of seven.
As they stepped off the dock and onto land amid the throng of celebrating Sifa, Kylan grunted as someone barreled into him.
“Watch it!” Naia shouted, but the hooded figure slipped into the crowd. Kylan pushed his cloak back, patting around his shoulders and neck.
“Tavra?” he stammered. “Tavra!”
Amri leaped into action before he fully knew what he was doing, Naia close behind. He shoved Sifa aside as they caught sight of someone darting up ahead. When the thief glanced back and saw them in pursuit, he broke into a run for the trees that skirted the beach. Amri and Naia left Kylan and Onica behind as they raced after him.
“Why would someone steal Tavra?” Naia asked.
“I don’t know! She’s tiny, and shiny? You know, we never did figure out where Tae’s stolen jewelry went! How are we going to find him in all this?”
“I don’t know! But we have to!”
They crashed into the brush at the edge of the beach. There was only a narrow, dense strip of tropical foliage before the ground rose into the Claw Mountains that protected the entire bay. Within moments they were clambering up an incline overgrown with thick-husked trees and vines.
Naia was a strong climber, though Amri was faster than both her and the thief on the sheer rock. He caught glimpses of the thief climbing through the ledges and vines up ahead, every sighting charging his body with urgency as he sprang up the incline. Tavra could only take care of herself to a point—what if the thief put her in a bottle? Thought she was a crystal-singer and crushed her, not knowing she was one of the daughters of the All-Maudra?
Amri vaulted over the side of a steep boulder and leaped, tackling the Gelfling in the hood.
“Gotcha!”
They rolled to the ground and wrestled until Amri came out on top, yanking back the hood. Beneath was the tattooed face of a Dousan boy. His face was pale and sand colored on the left, fading into a deep, glittering indigo on the right.
“Give her back! We know you took her!”
“Her?!” sputtered the boy. “Fine, fine! Just get off me!”
Amri backed up enough for the boy to grapple at his belt where he had a pouch. Inside was a glass jar big enough to keep a spider in. Amri reached for it, taking his attention off the Dousan for a moment too long.
“Fool!”
Amri saw stars, falling back and holding his head where the Dousan had struck him with a stone. The boy leaped to his feet, only to be shoved against a tree by Naia, dagger drawn.
“Don’t move,” she growled. Then to Amri, “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m great.”
Amri got to his feet as she pressed the flat of her blade against the Dousan’s neck.
The boy sighed and raised his hands, and Naia reached into his belt pouch and took out the jar. She pulled the cork with her teeth, and Tavra scurried out. Amri panted in relief when he saw she was intact.
“He has Tae’s jewelry in there, too,” Tavra said, voice clipped with anger and frustration. “He must have taken advantage of her while she was suffering from
the spores.”
“You speak well for a crystal-singer,” the thief said.
Naia stepped back, now that she had Tavra.
“So, what? You’ve just been sneaking about Cera-Na filling your pockets. What do you have to say for yourself?”
He shrugged. “It was worth it?”
“We’ll see if you still think that after we bring you to Maudra Ethri,” she said. She grabbed him by the collar.
“What’s a Dousan doing so far from the Crystal Sea?” Amri asked as they made their way down. It was difficult with a captive, but the wiry Dousan didn’t seem like a fighter. He did what Naia told him to, eyeing her dagger as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. If he was a thief, it was probably more likely he’d try to slip out of their grasp when they weren’t looking, and Amri wasn’t about to let that happen.
“I could ask the same of a Grottan and a Drenchen,” the Dousan said, raising a brow and running a hand over his shaved head. “And a pretty trinket with a Vapra accent. Sorry about that, little one. I thought you were a jewel. If I’d known, I never would’ve—”
“Move!”
“Hey. Hey! Wait a minute.”
When they reached the jungle below and Naia walked them out onto the beach, the Dousan turned, hands still up in surrender. Kylan and Onica were waiting for them where the sand met the trees. They nearly melted in relief when they saw the spider on Naia’s shoulder.
The Dousan saw he was even more outnumbered than before and waved his hands.
“Maybe we should start over with a proper introduction, eh? My name’s Periss. I’m a Dousan. Obviously. And you are . . . ?”
“None of your business,” Naia said. She pointed with her dagger toward the Omerya. “Let’s go.”
“Wait! I heard what the Far-Dreamer said down on the beach. About seven fires of resistance, or whatever. And of course I’ve seen the pink petals. Does that have something to do with the seven clans?”
Naia hesitated. “Yeah? And?”
“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you arrived on a sea ship.”
