Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2)

by Ripley Harper

  “Something which is inherently part of the human experience.”

  “Like debt and divorce?”

  She smiles at my weak joke. “Not exactly. The concept is a little difficult to translate, but it refers to things like memory, intellect, intuition, passion and—in the case of firemagic, it seems—spirituality.”

  “Spirituality?” I give her a dubious look. “Like religion? Or do you mean crystals and psychedelics and yoga and stuff?”

  Another smile. “Neither; it’s both simpler and more personal than that. Think about it. The last time you lit up with the shine, you saw past the outer appearance of the people around you, straight to the core of who they really are—their spirit. You yourself even called it a spiritfire, remember?”

  I nod, stunned. “And that was written in the Codex? Like, thousands of years ago?”

  “Yes. If Ingrid remembers correctly, the original document states quite clearly that the power of fire is the power of spirit.”

  “Wow.”

  “The emotional aspect seems accurate too. So far, whenever you’ve accessed your firemagic, you were either very angry or surrounded by the anger of others, and according to Ingrid’s extract, firemagic is a power born of rage and calm.”

  I frown. “But those are complete opposites.”

  “The Codex can be contradictory in very interesting ways.”

  “What else does it say about firemagic?”

  “Well, it suggests that the shallow, or easy, skills of firemagic involves controlling heat and flame.” She glances out the window at the blackened landscape outside. “I think it’s self-evident that you’ve mastered that one.”

  I nod, my cheeks heating a little.

  “And then it mentions the complex, or deep, skills, which are “seeing,” “blinding” and “binding”. Now, I can’t be exactly sure what those refer to, especially as I’m not working with a credible translation. But I suspect the power to “see” must refer to your ability to look into people’s aural fires, while the power to “bind” must refer to your ability to bend people to your will.”

  “And the blinding?”

  “I’m guessing it has to do with the strength of your shine, and especially its ability to dazzle people to the point of losing themselves.”

  “So that’s all firemagic is?” I put my popcorn aside, my appetite suddenly gone. “Don’t you think it seems kind of… random?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s the old insights and classifications that are, as you put it, ‘random.’” She purses her lips. “What bothers me most about that extract though, is it’s ending. Because if the Order of Keepers was, in fact, originally founded just to ‘blind,’ ‘bind,’ and ‘hide’ girls like you, it’s an even more corrupt organization than I ever suspected.”

  We spend our evenings cooking and eating together, like one of those families you see on TV shows. Daniel’s dad is a lot like Daniel, easygoing and charming, but he’s a much better cook, which means that for the first time in years I look forward to dinner every night. The last time someone cooked for me on a daily basis I was thirteen years old, and it’s strange and surprising how much it means to me, having this little bit of nurturing back in my life.

  After dinner we all usually watch a movie together before turning in for the night. We go to sleep when we’re tired and we wake up when we’re rested. There are no alarms or clocks, no schedules to follow. I wear the same thing every night (one of Daniel’s old shirts) and because I have precisely two outfits (the one I arrived in and one I borrowed from Sofia), in the mornings I wear the clothes that I washed in the sink the previous day. I don’t wear make-up, I seldom wear shoes, I don’t blow dry my hair, I don’t paint my nails. It’s a freedom I’ve almost forgotten about, a world removed from cameras and phones and mirrors, and I soon begin to feel like I did when I was a kid: comfortable in my own skin, relaxed and whole and completely unselfconscious.

  Daniel and I spend most of our free time together playing video games or watching comedy shows. Because there’s no internet, our selection is limited to the stuff he saved on his hard drive, and apparently that process took place in a hurry because most of it is either really old or really weird. It’s still funny though (especially when you watch it with someone who knows all the jokes and whose comments are usually more hilarious than the actual punchlines) and after a while it feels as if he never left, our friendship slipping back into its old groove as if nothing has changed.

  The same isn’t true of my relationship with Gunn, unfortunately, in spite of all the time we spend together, working on focusing techniques and brushing up on my self-defense skills. But that might simply be because we never had an honest relationship in the first place.

  It’s a painful thing to admit, but I’ve slowly come to realize that even when he was there for me in the past, supporting me and helping me and teaching me things, he was still lying about the real reason for his interest in me. I was lying too, of course, pretending to be his friend, or his kid sister, or his student, when all the while…

  In any case. That’s all over.

  We both see each other more clearly now, I think.

  Early in the mornings, before the sun gets too hot, I go for long walks with Ingrid. She asked this of me as a favor, claiming that walking helped her stiff joints, and I agreed, mainly because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. We spend most of our walks in total silence, the crunch of our footsteps in the sand the only sound for miles around.

  It takes a while for me to realize just how much I hate being alone with her, so far away from the others. A part of me has come to see her as something dark and terrifying—a mother-figure turned evi—and it’s only when I can admit this to myself that I’m finally ready to talk.

  I confront her one morning, about a mile into our walk.

  “Why did you do it?”

  I don’t tell her what I’m talking about. But she knows.

  “Because I was confused and desperately afraid.”

  Neither of us slacken our pace.

  “Did you ever believe you were helping me? Making me stronger?”

  “I believed I was helping you with my whole heart.” She sighs. “But perhaps I knew I wasn’t making you stronger. I think I knew that all along.”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t even look at her.

  “I wasn’t lying to you, little one. I was lying to myself. Which doesn’t make it better, naturally. We’re never more dangerous than when we act without understanding our own motives.”

  “You think?” My sarcasm makes me sound like a difficult teenager. I take a deep breath, try to soften my tone. “What were your motives anyway?”

  “Consciously? To be a good Black keeper. To follow the tradition I was born in, and to do it properly this time.”

  “And subconsciously?”

  “I… I’m not entirely sure.”

  I force myself to stay quiet, determined not to make this any easier for her. As we make our way deeper and deeper into nothingness, I focus on the warmth of the sun on my back, the dusty, dry scent of the desert air.

  “I think I was blown away by your strength that night after the trial,” she says eventually. “Even your mother was never that strong.”

  “Really?” For the first time I stop and look straight at her, surprised.

  “Yes.” Her gaze is blue and steady. “What you did was impossible. Both the White Lady and the Green Lord are powerful leaders, judged by the standards of any age, but particularly this one. Deron is strong too, although not as strong as his father had been. For you to break their will so effortlessly, together with the minds of everyone else in that room…” She shakes her head. “Maybe Bella could’ve done it before she became sick, but if that was the case, she never let me glimpse such power.”

  “That’s why you did it? Because my strength scared you?”

  “No, I wasn’t scared. Not at first. At first, I was delighted. I thought it meant Bella must’ve been right; t
hat you are

  waited so long transform

  purpose

  “Ingrid!” I grab my head as the world around me starts to sway.

  To keep me upright she takes hold of my elbows, her grip firm and steadying.

  “If Jack Pendragon survives those bullets, I’m going to shoot him myself.”

  I wait until my head stops swimming. Then I shake myself loose from her grasp.

  We start walking again.

  “It was only later,” she continues after a while, “when I learned how many keepers had been shine-struck, that I became afraid. And even then, I wasn’t afraid of you—I was afraid for you. I became convinced you would follow your mother’s path; that you’d choose to die rather than let the magic consume you. I thought this was my chance to atone for Bella’s death. That if I could only force myself to be strong this time…”

  Our footsteps crunch on the sand beneath our feet.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch.

  “I claimed Black late in my life, Jess. Before all the rest of them were murdered, one by one, I never wanted any part of what they did. And then my sister was also killed, and in an instant I became the very last keeper of the Black clan.”

  “I know that old story already.”

  “Yes, and you also know that I never drilled your mother. That I simply couldn’t do it. What you don’t know, however, is that in forsaking that duty I broke a holy vow.”

  I glare at her. “You took a holy vow to torture my mother?”

  “It’s an age-old practice to keep girls like you safe.” She doesn’t look away. “And I broke that tradition, only to watch your mother die in my arms.”

  I walk faster. “My mother didn’t die because of anything you did, so stop using her death as an excuse.”

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  “Also, stop hiding behind your stupid clan’s stupid traditions. I don’t give a shit about them. What you allowed them to do to me was wrong. Evil. And swearing a holy vow to do something evil doesn’t make it any less evil, so just cut the crap, okay?”

  “You know I don’t care for such language, Jess.”

  “Well, I didn’t care for being waterboarded, but you let them do it anyway.”

  “I’m sorry. I honestly thought I was doing what’s best for you.”

  I stop walking, place my hands on my hips. “Do you know what I saw inside you, that day when I lit up with the shine?”

  She looks down at the sand, silent.

  “Beyond the strength of your magic, deep in your soul, I saw a person who is vibrant and energetic and warm and decent. But your inability to let go of the past is darkening your spirit, changing you into something you were never meant to be.”

  She pulls her lips into a stubborn line. “I will never stop grieving your mother.”

  “Neither will I. But my grief is normal, a natural part of the love I felt for her. What’s darkening your soul, what’s twisting the inherent goodness inside you, isn’t your grief—it’s the massive amount of guilt you feel. And the worst is that it’s a misplaced kind of guilt that you can’t even learn from. It’s useless, Ingrid. Senseless and stupid.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because you did the right thing when you decided not to torture her.” Maddeningly, my throat thickens. “You broke with an evil and terrible tradition, and you did the right thing.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that, little one.”

  “No it’s not.” I swallow back the bitter, burning tears. “There’s no justification for those old rituals of torture, Ingrid, no matter what you try to tell yourself. And if you can’t bring yourself to accept that you did the right thing by not buying into all that bullshit, you will never be free of your guilt, and your soul will be twisted and warped into something dark and rotten and evil.”

  She rubs a hand over her eyes. “I don’t know how to let go of the past, Jess. But I’ll try. For your sake.”

  “Do it for your own sake. Not for mine.”

  “I am sorry for what I let them to do to you. More than I can say.”

  “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”

  “I don’t expect your forgiveness. I only want you…”

  “What?”

  “Not to be afraid of me anymore.”

  I start walking again. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

  “Maybe one day,” I say eventually.

  I spend my nights dreaming strange dreams from which I wake up confused and upset and unable to remember a thing. But the days glide by so smoothly that, after a while, I almost forget about the vengeful rage simmering just beneath the surface of Sofia’s pleasant smile. Or that Gunn abandoned me when I needed him most. Or that Ingrid let those masked monsters torture me when I was at my lowest and most vulnerable. Or that Daniel’s slumbering Skymagic will one day make him part of the clan that systematically exterminated my entire family.

  As our time trapped together in this strange place slowly slips away, my basic firemagic skills slowly become an almost unthinking part of me, but nobody encourages me to develop my mastery of the deep skills any further.

  I don’t wonder why until much later, when it’s far too late to change anything.

  Chapter 17

  The Black Clan did not engage the services of the Masked Ones until the late nineteenth century, when the long war with the Skykeepers had decimated all but one of the pure bloodlines. At that time reduced numbers led to greater intimacies between Keepers and Wards, often resulting in the kind of shameful attachments that prevented certain Black Keepers from performing the prescribed Protocols. Once this came to the Order’s attention, it was decreed that the Protocols would thereafter be performed by outsiders not swayed by improper affections.

  From A Brief History of The Order of Keepers, by Lord Harry Charles Shawcross (1961)

  He arrives when the sun is at its peak, the horizon shimmering with heat and the singing of cicadas at a high, steady pitch. The man is badly sunburnt, half-starved, dirty, clearly injured and so dehydrated that he hallucinates loudly, crying about curses and queens and dragons as he collapses in a miserable heap on the sand, about fifteen yards from the house.

  We’ve been watching him for a while. There’s nowhere to hide in the desert, especially now that every last scrub has been burnt to ashes, and we noticed his shuffling, slow but determined approach early this morning. At first, he was just the tiniest speck in the distance, but as his limping form grew larger and more distinct, I could feel the tension in the house steadily building. The man was alone, and he looked too weak and too wounded to be genuinely threatening. But that was beside the point.

  Somehow, someone had found us. Our reprieve was over.

  As soon as he collapses, there’s a weird moment when we all find ourselves strangely reluctant to act. It’s Gunn who gets up first. “Ingrid, come with me. The rest of you, stay here until we know what’s going on.”

  Ingrid raises an eyebrow but gets up anyway. “Excellent plan,” she says drily.

  It takes about two hours before the man is ready to talk, most of which he spends in a cool bath. After that, Noah and Sofia do their best to treat his sunburn with lotions and painkillers, his injured foot with antiseptics, and his dehydration with Daniel’s favorite sports drink. It’s soon perfectly clear, however, that his greatest injuries are mental rather than physical.

  And that it’s all my fault.

  I stand outside Daniel’s room, ear to the door, to find out that Antoni Mitchel comes from Poland. When he’s finally able to speak coherently, he tells Ingrid that he pledged himself to Red in his twentieth year. He was a dedicated Bloodkeeper, as well as a very successful businessman, for fifteen years before he left his home in Warsaw to attend my trial last year, summoned to bear witness to that event by the Red Lord himself.

  Everything changed after that night, he says. The earth beneath his feet and the stars in their constellations. The blood in his veins and the fire in his heart. Everythi
ng.

  After that night, he says, he knew that the old Antoni could be no more. The man he’d been before was dead, and so were his dreams, his hopes, his work, and his family.

  His only dream now is to serve the young queen. His only hope is that she would accept his service and dedication. All he wants is to offer her his life.

  It’s all he can do, now that he’s seen the truth.

  He cries when he tells his story, but his voice is filled with delirious rapture rather than sadness. He spent such a long time searching, he says. For so long he couldn’t see clearly, his mind scrambled by a treacherous darkness he didn’t know how to fight. He’d felt so lost. So lonely and so hopeless.

  But then, on a wonderful, miraculous evening not too many nights ago, the queen’s power flared again, calling to him like a beacon of light in this dim world of uncertainty and suffering and chaos, and he knew that he would find her, even if it killed him.

  And now, at last, he’s here.

  If only her keepers would allow him one quick glimpse of her. If only they would accept his sacrifice. His allegiance. His life. Anything.

  I stand outside Daniel’s room and I listen to all of this in silence, a sick feeling of misery in my stomach.

  I am the young queen he wants to serve.

  I am the one he has left his family for, and his country, and his very successful business. His entire life.

  When his voice becomes nothing but a strangled sob, a desperate plea to be allowed into my presence, I walk into the desert, as far from the house as I can get. Almost immediately, I break out into a heavy sweat and my skin begins to prickle with heat.

  But I don’t go back. I can’t.

  Daniel finds me about an hour later, where I’m trying to hide from the sun in the meager shade of a burnt-out cactus.

  “You’re going to burn.” He sits down beside me and plonks a sunhat on my head.

  “I can’t go back into the house.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m serious. I’m not going back while he’s in there.”

  “Okay.”