Chapter VII. Into the Fire
VII
INTO THE FIRE
“AND SO IT went. Cutting southward down the coast of Sūdhaem. Snaking rips and seething reefs, the swordmaid at Dawnseeker’s prow ever pointing our way.
The winds whipped us onward, as if God himself willed us toward the sainted blade.
But when those winds failed, Dior’s Unbound bent their backs to the oars and kept us speeding over the waves.
A thrall’s power will slowly diminish unless they sup regular from the wrists of their masters, but by some measure of Dior’s holy blood, the former scorched of the Dyvok somehow retained their strength.
Joaquin and Jacko and the four Callums and the rest sang hymns to God and rowed like men possessed, the oars creaking dangerously with the strain.
“And on we crashed through the rolling swells.
“Mother Maryn still bore the fatigue of eventide, and though we prayed together each dawn and dusk, she spent much of her time in solitude. Phoebe kept company with Reyne and Dior, and watchful eyes ever upon me. The Princess and Grail trained every day, but though Reyne’s skill was enviable, the forms she taught were entirely defensive—it was clear neither of the Ossians had any real intention of putting Dior near a battle.
“And thus, when she came to me every midnight, the Grail was hungry.
“Our next breakthrough came a week after she’d formed her needle of blood.
Red-faced, panting, she managed to bid a single shivering drop rise from the teacup, glittering like a tiny pearl.
It only lasted a moment—Dior cursing as that jewel splashed onto the floor.
But though small, it was her first true step down the red road of sanguimancy.
“And so, came her reward.
“I told her the tale of my first meeting with the vampire who would become my master. But you have heard that tale before, seigneur—my mother calling for Wulfric’s aid when Gabriel fell ill, and Wulfric’s refusal to help his son.
The Grail nodded approval when I told her of my gambit—threatening Wulfric’s cat with my knife before he overpowered me.
I told Dior how I called him Monster, and how the scorn of that eleven-year-old girl sobered his deadly rage.
And when I spoke of his warning—that I should be careful how I spent the eight lives that remained me—Dior summed up her feelings with a single word.
“‘Prick.’
“Our next milestone came a fortnight later; Dior finally managing to lift the contents of the teacup into the air. The globe of blood hung but a hair’s breadth above the cup’s lip—a misshapen, trembling blob of crimson.
She actually fainted with the effort of it, but it was another victory.
And so, I propped her against the pillar in the heart of our practice space to catch her breath, and told her the name of the foe that claimed my third life.
“‘Fire?’ she repeated.
“‘Oui.’
“‘Don’t have much luck with it, do you?’
“‘No. But my first taste was even worse than the one Kiara gave me at Cairnhaem.’
“Dior leaned back against the pillar, propping a cigarelle upon her lips with unsteady hands. Patting her coat pockets, she pulled out her travelworn flintbox, brow raised.
“‘Do you mind?’
“‘No,’ we said, shifting back a few feet. ‘You bear little resemblance to a pack of angry Nordishmen, Dior. Nor your flintbox to a flaming brand.’
“She nodded, striking flame and breathing deep. ‘Angry Nordishmen, eh?’
“We sighed then, looking back across the mists of time. I have said it before, but it can be a strange thing to be one of the Faithful, seigneur. The souls you carry, the minds within … they bleed very far into your own. Memories that do not belong to you can rise unbidden, faces you have never seen seem as familiar as a friend’s.
But there are some days that remain yours forever.
“‘I lost my second life at the hands of Laure Voss,’ I began. ‘She came to Lorson as revenge after my brother interfered in her father’s plans. She killed the boy who loved me in front of my eyes. Tore my throat out and drank me to death. But you know this already.’
“‘I didn’t know she killed your beloved.’
“‘His name was Philippe.’
“‘I’m sorry, Celene.’
“We nodded, the air gone heavy. Our eyes focused on the cigarelle’s tip, flaring as the Grail inhaled. Remembering the stink of our own burning flesh.
“‘I awoke after Laure murdered me. No sense of time passed, no memory of what had happened, save it had been awful.
It all felt like a dream. Yet pawing at my eyes, I realized they were not gummed by sleep, but frozen blood, and looking about, I realized I was not safe in bed at home, but half buried by snow in a forest clearing.
And though the sun had sunk low through the branches, the woods were strangely bright.
“‘I saw Philippe’s body then, remembering all. But past the horror of what Laure had done, wondering how I had died but yet lived, still I recalled she had come to Lorson for ma famille. And rising, I ran home, two thoughts pounding with my feet on frozen earth.
“‘Mama …
“‘Papa …
“‘I ran, the gloom bright all around me, not merely the sights, but the sounds, the sensations overwhelming.
But one sense burned brighter than the rest; the air alight with the stink of burned timber and scorched meat and something else, something darker, stabbing sharper with every step toward Lorson.
I clutched my stomach, shaking, pleading as I broke free of the wood and back into the village that had been my home.
“‘It was nothing but a ruin, scorched and gutted. I saw corpses in the snow, babies scattered like fallen leaves, closing my night-bright eyes against the horror. And staggering toward our house, I found them, lying in the yard where she’d ended them.
“‘Mama was belly-down in the snow, her loss cutting me deep as bone. But then I saw my dear papa, who’d held me tight and told me since I was little that I was stone, I was the Mountain. And if that were true, then the sight of him lifeless left me in rubble.
“‘I longed to simply press my cheek against his chest and close my eyes. But the growing ache in me refused to let me lie down and die among my kin. What had begun as a spark was now a forest fire, roaring in my veins. To speak of it to mortals is to speak of screaming to the deaf. You think you know its pain. But in truth, you know only its name.’
“The Grail breathed a cloud of grey smoke. ‘Hunger.’
“I nodded. ‘Twisting up from Papa’s side, I went in search of a morsel to end that hateful ache. I found no food; the houses, the taverne, all incinerated. The chapel was still standing, yet when I tried to enter, I found my way barred by some invisible hand, some dreadful sense of unwelcome. As the dark sun kissed the horizon, I stood on tiptoe to peer inside, and thought my mind must be playing tricks. For though I could see the ruins’ reflection behind me in those smoke-black windows, I could not see myself.
“‘And then I heard it; faint even with these strange new senses. Distant but, oui …
“‘Voices.
“‘I saw silhouettes on the outskirts, burning torches in hand. Men, I realized. Half a dozen at least. I heard a snatch of prayer, saw a flash of torchlight on a longblade. And the humming in my heart became a hymn as I realized what they were.
“‘Sanctuary.
“‘Salvation.
“‘Soldiers.
“‘I waved, shouting, the first words I’d spoken since I fell.
But the noise was a gargle, shapeless and mangled.
Reaching up, I found only a few ropes of meat and sticky tendon below my jaw, and through the gaping hole that had been my throat dangled a long cord of muscle—my tongue, I realized. Slick and greasy with cold gore.
“‘I heard a horrified cry, and looking up I saw the men, wide eyes on me as they fumbled for their weapons. They were a motley group, poorly armed and barely armored. I’d mistaken them for soldiers come to Lorson’s aid, but now I saw they wore no sigil of baron or emperor, and I realized what they were in truth. ’
“‘Thieves,’ Dior murmured.
“‘Oui,’ I sneered. ‘These were the years before the Forever King crossed the Bay of Tears. But since daysdeath fell, Nordlund had become a haven for bottom-feeders—men whose livelihoods failed as the sun did, turning to robbery and deeds darker still.
“‘Men like these.
“‘A tall fellow with a bristling beard pointed at me, Monster!, and a short man with crooked teeth shouted, Seven Martyrs, fucking kill it! And just as terrified as they, I turned to run, back toward the wood and whatever safety it held.
“‘I heard a THUMP then. And looking down, I saw a feathered shaft protruding from my thigh.
A second arrow hit me square, sinking into my chest. It did not hurt as such, but still I felt it, breaking through the rime of numbness that had settled on me.
Looking up, I saw a bucktoothed lad with a longbow, knocking another arrow.
“‘I’d always been a rough-and-tumble scrap of a girl. A girl who’d worked her feelings out with her hands. And as his third arrow thumped into my belly with something close to but not quite pain, my feelings became clear as broken glass.
“‘Ma famille were murdered. My beau. My village. And though they’d smelled the smoke, perhaps even heard the screams, these men had not come to help Lorson in her hour of need. They’d come to strip her corpse.
If I saw keener, smelled sharper since I’d fallen to that monster’s teeth, I felt deeper too. And what I felt now was rage.
“‘They roared as I charged, moving as if in molasses as I flew toward the bucktoothed archer. I smelled his bowels loosing as he turned to run. And though I reached out only to break his bow, I ended up breaking him.
“‘All was chaos now, men fleeing, others shouting, the bravest stepping in to defend their fallen fellow. But though their blades bit deep, they did not quite hurt me.
“‘Not the way I hurt them back.