Eyes shining and almost in tears, she said, ‘Yes, only for a moment, but … I’m certain.’
‘Where?’ said the man, now wide awake.
‘The Narrows.’
A thoughtful expression crossed the man’s face and he said, ‘Wait.’
He closed the door and in a few moments it reopened, revealing him in a serviceable pair of trousers, a well-worn tunic, and boots and a belt of black leather. ‘He should be told,’ said the man.
They hurried up the last flight of stairs to the topmost quarters in the ancient tower. The man knocked on the door and almost at once heard a voice say, ‘Come in, Denbe.’
Pushing the door open, Denbe said, ‘We—’
‘You found him,’ said the old man.
The room was small, as the tower sloped inwards from a large foundation. It was cluttered with scrolls, books, and other items borrowed from the library below. The old man sitting at its desk was dressed in a robe of similar design to the one Sabella wore: light tan in colour, but with a broader red trim. Elmish the Prior, first of the order, had kept this fading confraternity alive for the last twenty years, by the force of his personality, experience, and unmatched intellect. He was an old man with a fair complexion, his skin almost parchmentlike with red blossoms across his cheeks, and age spots on his forearms and hands. Despite his many years he was still nimble, rising from his seat and moving quickly to the door.
As he hurried onto the landing, he turned to Sabella and said, ‘Show me,’ then followed her down the stairs, through the Sanctuary, across the courtyard, and down more stairs to the lower halls and the Seeking Circle. The three women who had searched with Sabella still sat motionless and ignored their arrival.
Motioning for Sabella to retake her seat, Elmish stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Again he said, ‘Show me.’
Sabella closed her eyes. The young woman had almost perfect recall, which was one of the reasons she had risen so quickly among the acolytes, despite her youth. Theirs was an ancient society, secretive and small, known as the Flame Guard to a few, but those who answered its call were always gifted, some even prodigious in their potential.
She felt Prior Elmish in her mind, observing as she recalled the moment she sensed the aura of the one they sought, and lost no detail in the retelling. The first time he had entered her mind, it had been unnerving to the point of causing Sabella to flee the order, but now it was as familiar to her as having a conversation. He possessed unusual abilities that he shared with very few of the order.
When she was finished, Elmish stood behind her silently. While he thought, he held his left arm across his chest and rested his right elbow on it to cup his chin. It was an odd habit, but one she had observed for more than three years now.
Finally he said, ‘Can you find him again?’
‘Perhaps,’ answered Sabella. ‘I only found him because … something changed. If that happens again …’
Elmish shook his head. ‘It won’t. Not in that fashion.’
Denbe looked at the other three Seekers, who were still in their trances, and said, ‘They sensed nothing?’
Elmish gave out a long sigh, due only in part to going without sleep for many hours. ‘We are not as blessed with adepts as we once were. The destruction of Ithrace …’ He shrugged. ‘Still, enough of us have survived.’
‘As did the child, apparently,’ said Denbe. He scratched his cheek absently as he observed, ‘How did we not find him for so many years, when now … it appears easy?’
Elmish said, ‘He’s changing.’
‘How?’ asked Denbe.
Elmish moved his hand and the other three acolytes started to blink as they came out of their trances. He said, ‘We have accomplished much. Thank you. We may need you again soon, but for now, get some food and rest.’
Unsteady at first, the three young women stood up without comment and then moved quickly up the stairs. When they were gone, Elmish said, ‘As a child … the fire that burned within him must have been buried very deeply.’
‘But without our training, how did it not consume him?’ asked Denbe.
Elmish shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘He must have been an angry child, but by some stroke of fortune he has learned to keep that anger contained.’ The old man shrugged, then said, ‘We must find him. Then we’ll get the answer to that question and others.’
‘What next?’ asked Denbe.
‘He was heading west?’ Elmish asked Sabella, to ensure his interpretation of the vision matched hers.
‘I think so,’ she answered. ‘Yes, I’m almost certain it was west.’
The old man thought on this, then said, ‘If he travels from the east side of the continents, or the islands, through the Narrows, he will seek a port somewhere between the Covenant and … Copper Hills.’
Denbe gave him a questioning look.
‘Any further up the western coast than Copper Hills or along the north shore and it would be easier to sail up the eastern coast and then westwards past the ice floes, before winter closes them.’
Denbe nodded once, accepting his logic.
Elmish pointed to Sabella and said, ‘Pack for travel. Be ready to leave—’ He paused. ‘What time is it?’
‘Two hours until dawn,’ answered Denbe.
‘Then you shall leave at dawn,’ said Elmish to the young woman.
Sabella rose, bowed slightly to the leader of the order, and then hurried up the stairs.
Elmish said, ‘She has had little training in the ways of the world, so I need you to care for her.’
‘Me?’ asked the old soldier.
‘There is no other candidate with the skill I trust,’ answered the prior. ‘Too many of us perished at the Betrayal. Few outside of our order and the king’s family knew we were not a normal detachment of soldiers in Ithrace’s army. Replacing them has taken a while and we are still but an echo of what we once were, but the boy hiding his gifts gave us time.’ He reached out and gripped Denbe’s arm. ‘She has the greatest chance of finding the boy … young man by now, I expect.’ He sighed. ‘If he revealed himself to her by accident, he may have also alerted others. We are not the only ones who know the Firemane child survived.’ He looked Denbe in the eyes. ‘Take the girl, follow her, protect her, and find the boy. Then bring him back here.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then we begin to right a terrible wrong.’
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR •
An Arrival and a Sudden Change of Plans
Jumping from the side of the ship, Hatu landed on the dock; tossing aside his travel bag, so it was in reach but out of the way, he helped two other men quickly tie the hawser down to a dock cleat.
Once the bowline was secured he looked aft to see another trio of men tying off the stern line. The spring lines he’d leave to the permanent crew, as he was certain that as soon as the gangplank was put out, Reza would be the first ashore, with Hava a step behind.
Hatu thought of what had occurred a few nights earlier on the ship as an awakening. He was uncertain what it truly was, but he knew that it was something he needed no longer to fight, but rather to understand, harness, and make work for him.
Since it had happened, Hatu had experienced strange dreams that left him with fleeting images, seemingly unconnected and sometimes alien to him, yet they tickled something deep inside, some faint recognition.
At times, images surfaced from when he was apparently very tiny, for the people around him loomed over him, and he was lifted and carried. He grabbed glimpses of skies filled with clouds, a flock of birds flying above, a dog barking as someone carried him past a distant farmhouse. The images were vivid in colour but faint in sound.
Other dreams made him feel as if he were someone else, in other places, even other times. He had glanced in a mirror to see an elderly man looking back at him, almost defeated by age yet satisfied in some way Hatushaly couldn’t grasp. Another image was of a young woman he yearned f
or, but not in a sexual way; it was a deep need for closeness and comfort.
Instead of the usual frustration he experienced, this time Hatu felt certain that he would come to understand those dreams and images at some point. For the first time in his life, he was close to being at peace, rather than feeling frustration and rage. He considered the images a promise of knowledge to come, answering not only questions he had now, but also those he’d carried with him since childhood. He was almost happy at the prospect. He simply knew better things were in store for him – knew it, not hoped – and Hava was a huge part of that certainty.
She seemed to have noticed the changes in him, though she said nothing to Hatu about them, or the mysterious glow that had engulfed him. She just smiled at him more often. Neither Reza nor the crew seemed aware of any change.
As Hatu had anticipated, the master was the first down the gangplank, followed closely by Hava. Reza motioned for Hatu to follow, so he grabbed his travel bag and hurried a few paces until he caught up.
Hatu followed along. One part of him, what he thought of as his ‘old mind’, kept alert for trouble as he had been trained, marking locations so he could find his way back to the docks. He also evaluated possible escape routes should misfortune befall them, forcing them to flee.
His new perception probed, scanned, and assigned importance to what he witnessed, the trivial but entertaining, the seemingly prosaic but significant. The sense was still forming, and Hatu wasn’t sure why it attempted to take in everything around him at once, creating confusion, but that’s how his mind insisted on working. He found the new perception odd but not troubling.
A few blocks from the docks, Reza glanced back and saw him staring. ‘What?’ he asked.
Swinging his gaze around as if he were merely sightseeing, Hatu smiled broadly, nodding as if Reza had just said something humorous. Reza and Hava both looked at him sharply. Hatu laughed aloud, then whispered, ‘We’re being watched.’
‘I know,’ said Reza. ‘Port Colos is one of the deepest hives of thieves and murderers on the western shores.’
Hatu nodded and chuckled, but said, ‘No. This is no street watch; I know them very well. This is … something else.’
‘Where?’ asked Reza. Without breaking his stride, he leaned down slightly and behaved as if the two of them were sharing a jest.
Hatu said, ‘Balcony, two buildings ahead on the left. A man in a blue shirt, broad-brimmed black hat.’
Reza made a show of laughing and glanced up at the area Hatu indicated. ‘Gods, how can you know? I can’t see his eyes, let alone tell where he’s looking.’
‘I just know,’ said Hatu calmly. ‘He’s the third. They’ve been watching us since we left the docks.’
Reza looked unconvinced but said to Hava, ‘Watch the right. Hatu, the left.’ He laughed one more time and patted Hatu on the shoulder.
As they made their way through the crowded streets, Hatu absorbed every detail he could. While part of his mind considered the fastest exit from conflict, another part explored the exotic spice aromas carried from an open stove in a set-back food stall, or wondered why the locals seemed to favour indigo as the dominant colour in their clothing, despite the wide variety in their heritage. Their races varied: dark skin, blond hair, short, tall, descendants of mountain people, those whose ancestors rode the plains or trekked the barrens. Yet, those who now lived here dressed in a surprisingly similar fashion: loose shirts, trim trousers, heavy low-cut boots for the men, lighter shoes for the women – no sandals, he noticed. The only variety was in head covers: hats, scarves, or none. Yet most of the fabric used was indigo in colour.
As he kept track of Reza and the route he chose towards their destination, Hatu also kept his attention on his surroundings. He knew he could find his way back to any point, despite Reza’s circuitous course. He was feeling comfortable with having such heightened senses, this ability to perform multiple tasks while still being able to reflect and evaluate, but he was nowhere near to understanding. It was a new ability, yet familiar somehow, as if it had been part of his nature his entire life.
A new bloom of movement alerted him that something had changed, a warning. ‘They’re moving to cut us off,’ he said.
Reza glanced at him, a question in his expression. He nodded, then said, ‘Second door on the right. When I turn, follow me; we move straight through the shop, out the back, and over the wall. Then we run. Do not fall behind. If you get lost, you die.’
Suddenly, Reza moved, Hatu and Hava half a step behind him. The shop they dashed into belonged to a fabric seller, its shelves loaded with bolts of cloth and long samples that hung from the ceiling. Reza was already through the rear door when Hava and Hatu entered, and they picked up their pace to keep sight of him. He was clearing the wall as they rushed through the back door, past a surprised-looking shop owner, a woman of advancing years who was too startled to voice any complaint.
Once over the wall, Hatu saw that Reza was heading in the same direction but taking them on a course parallel to the original one. It would take a few minutes for their pursuers to communicate the change in route to those who waited ahead, and Reza was determined to get ahead of all of them.
Having no idea of the layout of this city, Hatu could only guess their destination. He could easily backtrack to any point along the route, but if he left the path, he would be just as lost as he would have been before his new-found abilities manifested.
He had travelled enough to understand how most cities grew, the factors that led to their layout. Businesses that stank – butchers, tanners, dyers, and waste haulers – were always found downwind of the wealthy residential areas. Markets were situated at the intersections of major roads, and citadels and keeps always occupied the high ground. By speculating on what he had seen so far and the type of destination usually used by the gangs of Coaltachin, Hatu anticipated that they were heading towards the merchant sector of the city, to the warehouses. It wasn’t a particularly brilliant guess, but he had never thought to extrapolate things before, and that new-found awareness was unique.
As hungry as Hatu was for understanding, prior to the events on the ship, he had never been able to speculate or calculate without emotion. He usually brooded and wallowed in anger, and so cold reason was new to him, but he was enjoying it despite the odd novelty of it.
Hatu was awash with sensations he couldn’t name, but sensing little danger, despite the overshadowing threat. He glanced at Hava and saw she was frightened, and for a moment he wondered about that. He considered her fearless and had trouble reconciling it with her visible fear. Then it came to him; she wasn’t afraid for her life, she was afraid of failing. She had undertaken a task, and she would rather have died than fallen short of accomplishing it.
He took a moment to catch her eye and when she looked back, he simply nodded, trying to communicate that he thought they’d he all right. She smiled slightly and then returned her attention to Reza’s back.
Hatu then understood that there had been truth in Donte’s chiding. When he faced Hava in practice, he always wanted to please her, and she desperately wanted to please the masters. It was why he always fell to her. He had always been in love with her, even before he knew what it meant to feel that way, and Donte had known it even if he said nothing directly. Thinking of Donte brought forth a strong echo of regret.
The sound of their feet striking the cobbles and the shouts of angry bystanders marked their hasty course, but Hatu knew that whatever advantage Reza had gained them would be lost in another few minutes.
Suddenly, the master darted right into an alley and made a short dash between two buildings, and they faced a large warehouse. Reza halted and motioned for silence, pointing to his right. They started moving back the way they had come, almost running the short distance and turning left to stand before an unmarked door.
Hatu looked for any sign of pursuit and saw none, but he knew it would only be minutes before those who followed discerned their true path. He saw
Reza knock a code on the door, and a moment later it opened. A large man stood in front of them, filling the entrance. ‘Yes?’
Reza said, ‘I carry a message from our grandfather for your leader.’
The big man stroked his black-bearded chin, his eyes narrowing. ‘Is that so? And who might you be?’
‘I carry a message from our grandfather for your leader,’ repeated Reza.
‘I heard you the first time,’ said the big man. ‘And I asked who you were.’ His hand fell to the hilt of a large knife at his belt.
‘I carry message from our grandfather for your leader,’ Reza said a third time.
The man stood aside. ‘Enter, friend. Can’t be too careful.’
‘I’m Reza.’
The big man said, ‘A name well-known. I’m Lachlan. Let me get Killebrew.’
Hatu glanced around and saw familiar surroundings. The warehouse served a double duty as a trans-shipping location for goods both legitimate and purloined. Contraband combined with legal merchandise would pass more easily through customs. He assumed that Port Colos had no duty inspectors, as the captain had ordered the men to start unloading the cargo before Hatu, Hava and Reza left the Odalis. But goods shipped to more regulated ports, like those in the barony of Marquensas and kingdom of Ilcomen, would have to go through some sort of examination.
The rest of the building belonged to the crew, and from what Hatu could see, it was a fairly large base. He assumed that its size meant that the masters of Coaltachin controlled most crime in the city, which led him to wonder who served them here. Hidden from casual sight would be a kitchen, a rude dormitory, secret entrances, and an emergency exit.
Lachlan returned accompanied by an older man, and as soon as he saw him, Hatu understood that Port Colos was indeed a critical port, because unless he was completely mistaken, this man they called Killebrew, which was almost certainly not his real name, was a master himself, or at least a first captain.
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