Flamecaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “There was an explosion at the ironworks two days ago, and three of the colliers was killed. So the foreman, he give me one of their cloaks.”

  “You got a cloak off a dead man?” Jenna stared at him, horrified.

  Riley shrugged. “He won’t be needing it.”

  “But . . . but that’s bad luck,” Jenna said. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Me, I think it’s good luck, ’cause we’re warmer for it. Also ’cause it’s like a cave to hide in.” He leaned close, his lashy brown eyes meeting hers. She knew he wanted to kiss her—he’d done it before—but was a little shy, with Maggi there. Jenna pulled his head down toward hers, and he kissed her on the lips.

  Her cheeks burned, but she felt a pleasant tingle deep in her belly. She didn’t know what to say, so she changed the subject. “I have a surprise for you, too.” She patted her lunch bucket. “In here.”

  He eyed the bucket. “If I guess, will you tell me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s a meat pie. Isn’t it?” Riley was big and strong and he always seemed to be hungry. Jenna ate better than most because her father owned a tavern. She’d brought Riley a meat pie once before.

  Maggi overheard. “A meat pie! Can I have a bite?” Maggi was probably seven years old, scrawny as a baby bird. She was an orphan, so she was always hungry, too. There were lots of hungry orphans in town, though lots had died. If Jenna’d had a sister, she would want her to be just like Maggi. Except better fed and living somewhere other than Delphi.

  Jenna shook her head. “Sorry, Maggi. It’s not a meat pie. It’s a book.”

  “A book?” Riley looked away and cleared his throat. “But you know I can’t read. I’m fixing to learn, but—”

  “I’ll teach you,” Jenna said. “I’ll read it to you on the way home.”

  “You will?” Riley’s eyes widened.

  “Can I listen, too?” Maggi said. “You tell the best stories.”

  Jenna nodded. “You can listen. And here.” Digging in her pocket, she pulled out a small, wrinkled apple and handed it to Maggi. “I found this on my way up to the ride. You can eat it now or save it for the midday.”

  Maggi had already bitten into it. She knew better than to save things for later. The juice ran down her chin, making trails in the dirt on her face. Once she’d finished the apple, she tossed the core and snuggled down to sleep, her head in Jenna’s lap. Jenna stroked her hair, working out some of the tangles.

  “Most of my stories come from books,” Jenna said to Riley. “I used to read all the time before I went into the mines. My da taught me how. I liked to pretend I was one of the characters.”

  Riley wrapped their cloak tighter to keep out the wet and looked over the packed-in bodies around them. He blotted rain from the end of his nose with his sleeve. Riley was usually a cheerful sort, but on this morning he seemed a little downcast. Maybe because the bosses were working him harder than anybody else. “If I was a character in a book, I’d want to be in a different story.”

  “You will be,” Jenna said, leaning closer so she could speak into his ear. “You can be in my story.” And then, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she leaned toward him and shared the secret she’d kept forever. “See, I’m magemarked.”

  “Magemarked?” His eyebrows came together. “What’s that?”

  “Shhh,” she said, clapping her hand over his mouth and glaring around the packed wagon. From what she could tell, everyone else was asleep. It was amazing how alone you could be in the middle of a crowd. “Nobody can know.” She took his hand and placed it over the raised emblem on the back of her neck, the spiderweb of metal, the smooth stone at the center.

  His eyes widened as he brushed his fingers over the surface. “What’s it mean?” he whispered.

  “It means I’m powerful.”

  “Well,” Riley said, swallowing hard, “maybe you are. But I don’t have a mark.”

  Jenna was instantly sorry she’d brought the whole thing up. She’d kept it to herself for this long. Why had she chosen to blurt it out now?

  “That doesn’t matter,” she said. “We are chosen, you and I. We’ll write our own story, you’ll see.” Putting her hands on Riley’s shoulders, she looked into his eyes. “When I look at a person, I can see who they really are.”

  “You can’t,” Riley said.

  “I can.” That was a stretcher. She’d see pictures or hear fragments, was all, but it wasn’t easy figuring out what they meant. Sometimes it was the person as they were, only clearer, truer, like when somebody lets their guard down. And sometimes it was the person they were going to be.

  Other people she knew by their scent. For instance, Riley smelled of sweat and hard work and kindness and honesty.

  “Who’m I?” Riley asked, lifting his chin and striking a pose.

  Jenna stared at him. She saw him just as he was. Beyond that, nothing at all.

  “What? What is it?” Riley swiped at his face like he was afraid it was dirty.

  “Why, Riley, I think you’re going to be a king,” Jenna said finally.

  “A king. What do you mean?”

  “I keep seeing you, and a crown, and a sword. That must mean you’re meant for great things, right?” She leaned in close and whispered, “In our story, the king of Arden gets eaten by wolves in Chapter One.”

  Riley laughed softly, but he still looked around to make sure nobody could overhear. “For now, I’d be glad to hear the story you brought. It’ll give me something to look forward to, while we’re down in the mine.” He sighed. “I wish it was the end of the day right now.”

  But it wasn’t the end of the day. They were just pulling up in front of the Number Two mine, which meant that the end of the day was twelve hours away. They called it the Number Two because a year ago there’d been an explosion at the Number One mine that buried the entrance under tons of rubble, shutting it down.

  The colliers said it was firedamp, the explosive gas that built up in the mine. The Ardenine bosses claimed it was sabotage, because it happened at change of shift, when there were few miners underground. The king of Arden was furious when he heard, because he needed coal and steel to put weapons into the hands of his army. So they cut a new shaft into the mountain. Most of the able-bodied men and women in Delphi had been forced into the mines already. So King Gerard issued orders to herd up every lýtling in Delphi and send them into the mines to make up for lost time. That was a year ago.

  The youngest lýtlings died the first month. They’d be carried from the mine at the end of each shift, piled in a wagon, and driven back down to town so their parents could claim them. Jenna was just eleven when she went into the mine, but she was wiry and strong, and healthier than most. Plus, she was too stubborn to die, and leave her da all alone.

  “Keep your head down, now,” Jenna said, when they parted at the crossroads at the bottom of the shaft.

  “Keep your head down,” Riley said back. It was a ritual with them, like a charm of protection before he trudged off, toward the deepest part of the mine. More and more, they’d put him on the coal face as a hewer, digging with a pick and shovel with the other men. By the end of the day he was so tired that he slept all the way home. He’d been in the mines for three years. He’d started when he was a twelve-year, being big even then. The more often he worked the coal face, the more he coughed.

  When Jenna first went into the mine, Riley was a “hurrier”—he wore a leather strap around his waist and pulled heavy carts of coal up the ramp to the cage. Jenna worked as a “thruster,” pushing the carts from behind. Or sometimes as a “trapper,” opening trapdoors so the carts could rattle through. You had to look sharp if you were a trapper—if a cart came up and you weren’t ready, you’d get run over. Or you’d open up a trap, and the firedamp would roar out like a dragon and burn you right up.

  Jenna had a knack for knowing when firedamp was lurking behind the trap. It was like she could feel the seething heat of it, her heart beating with the pulse o
f the flame. Once, she pulled Maggi off right as she was about to open the trap. One of the bosses swung his club at her for slowing down production. Then he opened the trap and was charred to a crisp.

  People liked to work with Riley, because he was so strong that it made it easy on the thrusters, and he was always careful of the trappers, especially at the end of the shift, when everyone was tired.

  Riley also had a way of getting between the bosses and the lýtlings when they were handing out beatings. And showing up when this particular wormy-lipped guard tried to drag a little girl into a side tunnel. He didn’t say anything, he’d just be there until the guard let her go.

  The bosses didn’t like Riley because of what he said and did, and because the other miners looked up to him, even though he was only fifteen.

  Jenna was sorry that Riley was in the mine. At the same time, having him there made her life bearable.

  When the end of the shift finally came, they rode up in the cage together, holding hands. They walked out into the twilight, blinking like cave creatures, joining a jostling crowd of miners just outside.

  The wagons were not lined up as usual, but had been pulled over to one side. A tented pavilion had been set up a short distance from the mine, and the red hawk of Arden flew from the tent poles. There were armed soldiers everywhere—surrounding the pavilion and keeping a close watch on the collected miners. The soldiers wore black coats marked with the red hawk, too. The usual name for them was blackbirds.

  “What’s going on?” Riley asked Brit Fletcher, who always seemed to know.

  “It seems we’re about to hear some scummer from His Majesty, King Gerard.” Fletcher spat on the ground.

  “He’s here?” Jenna shrank back a little. “What’s he doing here?”

  “It seems that he and the missus are promenading around the empire, showing how they an’t scairt of a few Patriots.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “An’t you heard? There’s been riots in Tamron Seat, and rebels took over the keep at Baston Bay a few months ago. Didn’t hold it long, but still. Word is that some of the thanes is getting restless ’cause they’re tired of war.” Fletcher smiled, like he approved.

  “Shhh,” Riley said, glancing around. “Somebody might hear.”

  Fletcher made no secret that he hated the king of Arden. Some whispered that he was an actual Patriot—one of those who fought back against the king and his blackbird guards. His family had died when Arden took the city, so he didn’t have a lot to lose. He was old—near to forty, some said—so he’d be dead before long anyway.

  “That must be him,” Jenna murmured, pointing.

  A small group of people had emerged from the pavilion amid a crowd of soldiers. Jenna recognized Delphi’s greasy mayor, Willett Peters, along with Ned Shively, the Big Boss at the mine. Swiving Shively, the miners called him.

  With them was a finely dressed pair. It was hard to get a good look from that distance.

  “Let’s move up closer,” Jenna said, thinking it might be her one chance to see a king or a queen in person.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Riley began, but she was already sliding through the crowd to the front so she could get a better view. Still murmuring protests, Riley followed after, pulling his new red cloak closer around himself.

  Now at the front, Jenna got a good look at the king. He was a narrow man of medium height with nearly colorless blue eyes and a thin, cruel mouth. He wore a slate-gray velvet jacket with a fine blue cape over top, already spotted from the sleet. The wind that blew down out of the mountains ruffled his mouse-brown hair.

  The woman with him was taller than the king, but she hunched down a little, maybe so people wouldn’t notice. She looked to be a foreigner, with her tawny skin and brown eyes and a mouth as full as the king’s was stingy. She wore a pale yellow dress with a white fur wrap, yellow silk slippers, and white gloves.

  “Who’s that lady?” Maggi asked Fletcher, pointing. She’d wormed her way up front, too.

  “That’s Queen Marina, poor thing,” Fletcher said. “She was a princess in Tamron, daughter of the king. Gerard murdered her whole family, took over the kingdom, and married her.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Maggi whispered.

  Fletcher snorted. “Did you ever see anything like it? Little fancy shoes and white gloves—in Delphi? They won’t be white for long.”

  The king of Arden moved to the front of the pavilion, his queen a foot behind him, and looked down at the collected miners.

  “Miners of Delphi!” he said in a carrying voice. “Queen Marina and I have come north to thank you for your hard work this past year. I know it hasn’t always been easy, but I’m pleased to announce that coal and steel production is at an all-time high.”

  Mayor Peters and Boss Shively clapped like mad, but the miners just stood in stony silence.

  “Now is not the time to pull back, however,” the king said. “Indeed, we must redouble our efforts to put weapons into the hands of our soldiers. I have advised Mayor Peters and Master Shively that production goals for next year will be increased by ten percent.”

  This was met by a rumble of protest. The queen looked from the miners to the king, frowning and biting her lower lip, as if this was bad news to her, too. Then her face went back to blank.

  “I know this is an ambitious goal. But with Saint Malthus’s help, we will defeat the witch queen in the north and bring peace and prosperity to the Empire.”

  Nobody in Delphi looked for much help from Saint Malthus. Although Arden had sent Malthusian missionaries into Delphi, they hadn’t made much headway in converting people to the state church.

  “How about you send old Saint Malthus down into the mine?” somebody shouted. “We could use the help.”

  The soldiers moved forward, scanning the crowd, trying to identify whoever had spoken up. Meanwhile, the queen knelt at the edge of the stage to speak to Maggi. Jenna was right there, so she heard everything that was said.

  “I have a little girl at home,” the queen said softly, in Common, “only she’s younger than you. Her name is Madeleine.”

  Maggi looked up at her, her eyes a startling blue in her coal-smirched face. She reached out her hand, as if to touch the queen’s dress, then jerked it back, as if realizing that her grubby hand wouldn’t do the queen’s dress any good.

  The queen didn’t seem worried. “What’s your name?” she said.

  “Maggi.”

  “Do your mommy and daddy work in the mine?” she asked.

  “No’m,” Maggi said, looking puzzled. “They’re dead.” She jabbed a thumb into her chest. “I work in the mine. Since I was six.”

  The queen reared back as if she’d been slapped, her eyes widening with horror. “Oh, no,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You must be mistaken.” But the queen must have seen that Maggi was telling the truth, because she took a quick look over her shoulder to see where the king was. Jenna looked, too, just in time to see an object fly through the air and splat at Gerard’s feet, spattering his clothing all the way to his waist.

  Jenna knew right away what it was—steaming dung, dropped by the horses that pulled the coal wagons. She had to pick her way around it on a daily basis.

  “Scummer,” Fletcher muttered. “There’ll be hell to pay now. If they was going to do anything, they should of gone ahead and shot him, and done us all some good.”

  Jenna took a step away from him. Fletcher was like a plague you might catch if you got too close.

  Things moved fast after that. Black-jacketed guards closed in around the king, leaving the queen on her own at the edge of the stage until two soldiers hustled her to safety. Other blackbirds formed a ring around the gathered miners, so none of them could slip away. Shively’s club-wielding thugs swarmed to the front of the stage.

  Jenna shrank back, suddenly sorry she’d pushed to the front. Riley wrapped an arm around her, sheltering her.

  “All right,” Shively snarled, slappin
g his club against his other hand. “Who did that?”

  Nobody made eye contact. Nobody said anything. Nobody dared to move, afraid to call attention to themselves.

  “I’m warning you, give him up, or you’ll be sorry.”

  Nothing.

  That’s when the king of Arden broke free from his guards and strode to the edge of the stage.

  “These people have no imagination, Shively,” the king said, his voice like melted ice. “You have to make the consequences very clear.” As he spoke the last word, he reached down, gripped Maggi by the arm, and hauled her up onto the stage. Wrapping one arm around her, he lifted her up high while she wriggled and whimpered in fear. “Now. The guilty party had better step forward, or I’ll kill the ratling.”

  Everyone stood and stared at the king of Arden and the struggling Maggi, frozen with shock. Jenna wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t. It was like she was hypnotized, like the king had cast some kind of monstrous spell.

  “Your Majesty, please! Have mercy! She’s just a child.” The queen lunged toward him, but the blackbirds grabbed her arms, holding her fast.

  Maybe the dung-thrower would have stepped forward, but the king didn’t give him much of a chance. With a quick, vicious move, he snapped Maggi’s neck. Tossing the small body aside, Gerard looked out across the crowd. “Let’s just keep doing this, shall we, until somebody confesses. Now then. Who’s next?”

  4

  PATRIOT

  Jenna couldn’t remember deciding to kill the king of Arden. It was like everybody else was frozen—even the blackbirds—and she was moving. Before she put two thoughts together, she had vaulted up and over the edge of the stage and smashed right into him, putting him flat on his back. Looking down into his startled eyes, she rammed her fist into his blueblood nose, wishing it was a knife between the ribs instead.

  The king’s royal nose spouted blood like a fountain. It smelled like anybody else’s blood, and it wasn’t really blue. Gerard was stronger than she expected, though, and flipped her over, pinning her with his knee in her chest. He wrapped his blood-slick hands around her neck and began to squeeze. The strength drained out of her arms and legs and she knew she was dying.