Chapter 8
Blaze
Something is crawling up my back. Lots of somethings – a series of sharp little pinpricks. It stings. Or maybe it doesn’t. The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real any more.
I’m lost in the darkness, but there’s so much I can see.
I see myself in my bedchamber in Harglade Hall, with its thick scarlet curtains and large four-poster bed.
I watch as the red-silk sheets begin to wrap themselves round my wrists and ankles, pulling from all sides.
I open my mouth to scream, only I’m not the one screaming.
It’s Amaryllis, the Terrathian Heir, her limbs bound by vines that stretch and stretch until …
POP.
The scene changes. I’m sitting in Elaith’s chambers in a beautiful midnight-blue dress, accepting a glass of champagne from the bottle my chaperone, Spinner, has just opened.
But the moment I take a sip, the world starts to tilt and spin, and I’m falling down the side of a gold-capped mountain, my fellow Aquatori Heir Marina’s cold laughter ringing in my ears.
I hear the glass in my hand shatter, echoed by the sound of a thousand glasses shattering in a stone ballroom.
When I wake, I’m under water. In the cold blue lake of an arena, in a flooded banquet hall, in a shimmering pool, falling down, down, down until I tumble out on the other side, scrambling to my feet in a room containing a single object – a golden Eye.
It watches me. Whispers my name.
Blaze.
The voice sounds like Flint’s, faint and terrified.
I blink hard to stay conscious. My whole body aches, the heaviness radiating outwards from the crook of my elbow.
I have to get up. I have to get out of here.
I must have lost the nightlight, for I am enveloped in dense gloom.
As the next hallucination recedes, I manage to roll on to my side, dislodging my left hand.
I catch the tip of the worn leather glove between my teeth, and pull.
As it slides from my fingers, my surroundings are lit up by the soft glow of my brandmark.
Dust has settled thickly in the air. I’m lying atop a mound of rocks and bones, propped up against –
I recoil from the body of the snake, its scales charred and peeling.
Shining my brandmark into its face, I see a single drop of venom poised to fall from the end of a glistening fang. Next, I examine the bite. My arm is swollen, the skin darkened as though bruised. Blood still oozes from the wound, soaking my sleeve.
Behind me, what was once the ceiling of the chamber is now an impenetrable wall. I try to scream Flint’s name, but my voice has been reduced to a slurred mumble.
Another vision tears through me – of my mother this time, her brown-gold eyes turning blood-red. I shake my head furiously, pushing it away.
I’m desperately thirsty, but I can’t summon the strength to conjure so much as a mouthful of water. I glance around for my satchel, but it’s nowhere to be seen.
How did it come to this? How long have I been here, debilitated by the venom coursing through my system?
How long do I have before it reaches my heart?
If this is really how it ends, then my soul will be trapped inside the Ridge forever, since the chances of anybody finding my body are slim at best.
The Rain Singers believed that when they died, their God, Om Shikara, cried tears of rain down upon the earth to mourn their passing.
They were laid to rest high in the cliffs, close to the sky.
Like the Singers, the Aquatori have their own funeral traditions.
The deceased is dressed in their finest clothes, while a boat is strewn with furs and filled with gifts – offerings for Morwenna.
The more extravagant the gifts, the more likely she is to allow the boat to sail over the Second Sea and pass into the First Sea, the sacred ocean of the afterlife.
The Water Goddess has expensive taste, it seems.
The dead person’s belongings are also put inside the boat – their most prized possessions.
All my prized possessions are missing. The Eye of the Soul, lost down the waterway.
The nightlight from Hal, buried beneath the rubble.
My dagger, which I haven’t seen since the Ceremony, scarlet to the hilt, bathed in the blood of the Council.
Though there is one thing – the little wooden knight from Renly, still tucked safely in my pocket.
The thought brings me some comfort – until a series of white-hot stings pepper up the length of my back.
I arch my spine, searching for the source of the pain.
And then I see them, scuttling across the bones, over my legs, up my back – throngs of them descending on the dead snake, pouring into its open mouth, biting and stinging as they go.
Fire ants.
Is this real?
I cry out as I’m stung once again between my shoulder blades.
Definitely real.
With a burst of strength, I launch myself up, then fall right back down again with a thud. I try once more, gripping a boulder, slapping the ants away.
Another hallucination seizes me. My father, wide-eyed, begging my mother to stay with him, just stay with him, as the blood pours from between her legs. A baby squealing. My heartbeat loud in my ears.
I don’t know how I’m managing to move, but I am.
Not running, not even walking, but stumbling slowly over the debris and out of the chamber, straining my eyes against the darkness of the tunnel.
My footsteps are loud and clumsy, and I keep bumping into the walls.
If anything else is lurking nearby waiting to finish me off, it won’t take long to find me.
I fall to my knees as more hallucinations descend.
Cole looms over me, encircling us inside a ring of fire.
River kneels by my side, murmuring softly as he gathers me into his arms, soaking wet and trembling.
Then there’s Renly, dressed in an oversized red doublet, giggling as he darts out of my grasp and disappears round the corner.
I start to crawl, following him. But crawling one-handed is difficult, and my body feels as though it’s gone to sleep. I grit my teeth as I push on, dragging my useless arm behind me.
I hear Ren laughing again up ahead. I know it’s not real, I know he’s not here, but I’m overcome with a desire to reach him, fuelled by my final dregs of adrenaline and a stubborn, slightly infuriating will to live. I heave myself round the bend, then the next, then –
Light.
A tiny pocket of light up ahead, no bigger than the palm of my hand.
Real? Not real? I can’t be sure, but I chase it anyway, scared it might vanish.
Renly is gone, but the light remains, growing larger as I approach, filtering through a crumbling gap in the rock.
It takes an age, but I reach it. The hole is big enough to crawl through, and I pull myself out into bright, blinding daylight.
Behind me, the Ridge towers into the sky. Before me, nothing but trees. I give my head a shake as I take in the lush green landscape of the Wildlands.
Somehow I manage to stand, but each step feels precarious, like my legs are about to snap in two.
Every breath is harsh and guttural, echoing through the ringing in my ears.
Grey smoke permeates the edges of my vision.
Boughs leap out at me, boulders grow and shrink before my eyes.
With my senses failing me, I stumble dazedly through the forest, catching myself on branches, barely registering the pain.
That’s when my feet twist in a mass of sprawling roots and I go tumbling to the ground.
My reflexes are so sluggish that I don’t even throw out my arms to try to break my fall.
But it turns out I don’t need to, because something catches me, wrapping itself firmly round my waist like a length of rope – a thick vine that is replaced moments later by a pair of arms. Strong and golden, slightly weather-beaten.
Relief. Disbelief. A spark of indignation. I feel it all as I tilt my chin to stare up at the pair of spring-green eyes looking into mine.
A small smile curves the Earth Cleaver’s lips. ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’