Chapter 43
Blaze
Ifloat through dark nothingness.
I have no way of measuring how long I’ve spent in this shadowy place, conscious yet unconscious, suspended somewhere between sleep and waking.
Occasionally chinks of light appear, as though shining through cracks in a wall.
Other times I hear a voice, deep and familiar, murmuring soothing words.
The sound sends my heart racing, yet before I can remember why I slip even further into oblivion.
Dreams morph into one another. I see Flint summoning the flames of a thousand candles from their wicks.
I see my mother telling me a story while the fire in the hearth brings her tale to life, burning fiercely, twisting into different figures and faces.
I see the storm, the rainfall flooding entire provinces, drowning men, women and children.
And I see River, spinning Grandmother around the dance floor, pulling her into the statue garden, his hand cupping her face, his gaze soft, almost reverential.
The orphaned son of a Rain Singer and a Mage.
A little boy who met a little girl who played with fire, and decided to trust her.
When I wake, I’m surrounded by water.
The small boat sails smoothly along the Creek, the glassy surface a mirror to the sky, which is pale grey and brimming with swollen clouds. No trees line the banks. In fact there is no greenery in sight – just miles and miles of craggy, treacherous-looking gorge.
My eyes widen, confusion tinged by fascination.
Scout is lying curled up at my side, her coppery-red fur the single streak of colour amid this strange rocky wasteland. And there, his eyes fixed on the horizon line, the corded muscles of his weather-beaten forearms pulsing with each dip and drag of the oars, is Fox.
I lurch away from him and hit the back of my head on the prow of the boat, the memory of his hand clamped over my mouth fresh in my mind.
‘You,’ I spit. ‘What did you do?’
‘Ah, good,’ he says, glancing down at me. ‘You’re awake. Sleep well?’
I stare at him, my head throbbing like a heartbeat. He drugged me. He kidnapped me. And he’s acting like I just woke up from a nap?
I reach for Silverclaw, but my boot is empty.
‘Looking for this?’ Fox glances down at his belt where my dagger is sheathed at his hip.
‘Since our dear friend the Baron stripped me of Soulkiller, I was in need of a weapon. And given your rather stormy temperament, I thought it prudent to ensure you were unarmed upon coming to. Don’t worry,’ he adds brightly, as the oars in his hands grow slick with ice, ‘you’ll get it back.
But for now, just sit tight and enjoy the view. ’
I watch him chew on a sprig of mint as he rows. He must’ve abandoned his bloodied shirt in the forest, for he isn’t wearing one at all – just a thin dark jacket gaping open, exposing the golden planes of his chest and the Eye of the Past nestled next to his heart.
Fox smirks. ‘I didn’t mean this view, though I’m flattered nonetheless.’
I grit my teeth and avert my gaze. We’re not in the Wildlands any more, clearly. Nor does the terrain match the rocky wasteland or red-sandstone canyons of the Firelands.
‘Where are we?’ I demand.
‘We’re in your kingdom, of course,’ says Fox with a grin. ‘Welcome to the Waterlands.’
My insides curl with disbelief and frustration. ‘But … but … this is where we were headed all along!’ I half yell. ‘What possible reason did you have for knocking me out?’
‘I prefer the term sedated,’ Fox muses. ‘And because, Your Majesty, once you’ve made up your mind, it’s exceedingly difficult to dissuade you.
’ He smiles fondly, as if he finds my stubbornness enchanting.
‘You wished to track down the missing Eye and to be reunited with Flint, and you were convinced that the Lagoon would be where you would accomplish both.’
I grip the sides of the boat. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘A place far more meaningful than the Court of Waves, where I believe you may find the Eye of the Soul. Though admittedly not your brother.’
‘Where?’
Fox lowers his voice theatrically, as if this is all some big game. ‘Somewhere very few have dared to tread.’
My head is still a little clouded. What is he talking about?
‘You’ve just learned that you’re a Demari,’ he continues.
‘That the blood running through your veins is not only Etheri but Magi too. But what if you ignored the tangled branches of your family tree and asked yourself which part of your ancestry you resonate with most? Who’ve you always been, since the day you were born? ’
I frown. Since the day I was born? Is he referring to the storm? And me, the Storm Weaver? Except that was a name given to me – one I only learned to accept after unleashing my power and winning the Aquatori crown.
I blink. Aquatori. Is that what he means? To categorize myself by the element I wield? I am to be the Aquatori Queen, after all. And I do consider myself a Fish, even if one of my gifts will forever set me apart.
Then I freeze as realization trickles through the sedative-induced haze, which slowly begins to evaporate like morning mist.
What makes me Aquatori is the same thing that makes me the Storm Weaver. Because what I am – who I am – first and foremost, is …
‘A Rain Singer,’ I breathe.
Fox clicks his tongue. ‘Precisely.’
‘So where …’ My mouth tips open as the final piece of the puzzle slots into place. I shake my head. ‘No. You haven’t.’
‘Yes. I have.’
‘You’ve brought us to Brava?’
Fox nods, pleased with himself.
I’ve thought about this place so often. I’ve pictured it a thousand times – but as it was, back when the Singers ruled this backwater province like a kingdom of their own. Not as it is now: uninhabited, forsaken, its vast emptiness heavy with their absence.
For a moment I’m torn between wonder, grief and rage. Rage triumphs.
‘You idiot,’ I snap. ‘This means we’re miles from the Lagoon. I might never have been to the Waterlands before, but I can read a map. You’ve wasted days on this fool’s errand. What were you thinking? Are you insane?’
‘That’s not very polite.’
I launch myself to my feet, ice crystallizing at my fingertips. ‘How could you?’ I snarl. ‘You lied to me. You drugged me. You brought me here against my will.’
‘I did it to help you.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Believe it or not, Blaze, most of what I’ve done these past few weeks has been to help you,’ Fox shoots back. ‘Now quit sulking and listen to me.’
I curl my hands into fists, squeezing so hard the nails bite into my palms. I can’t believe I ever kissed this boy. I can’t believe I felt –
Well, it doesn’t matter what I felt. I won’t allow myself to feel it again.
‘I hate you,’ I mutter.
‘No, you don’t.’
I almost choke on my exasperation. ‘I do.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Fox says again. ‘You hate the uncertainty. You hate the lack of control. You hate that you can’t figure me out, and you hate that you try to.’
I feel like he’s just slammed me into a brick wall. I feel furious. I feel naked.
When Fox speaks again, his tone is gentle.
‘Look, you’re a Rain Singer. You were a Rain Singer when you could only conjure drizzle, and you were a Rain Singer when you almost flooded that amphitheatre during the third trial.
It’s who you are, deep down to your core.
And yes, you’re right – the Lagoon is your future.
But surely, surely, your subconscious would have a stronger connection to your past. To your roots, your origins, your people. ’
‘But the Rain Singers are dead!’ My voice echoes through the ravine. ‘They’re gone. This place is a graveyard. There’s nothing left for me here.’
‘You’re wrong.’
I hesitate, certain I’ve misheard him. ‘What?’
Fox stops rowing and draws the oars into the boat.
‘For months I’ve been using Sifa’s Eye to scour for evidence,’ he says quietly.
‘Signs of life. But there was no way of telling whether the visions I saw were recent or whether I was glimpsing moments that took place a century ago. That’s why Scout was so late in joining us. She was here – in Brava.’
I can’t tell whether I’m shaking or shivering. ‘And what, may I ask, did you use your Magi gift of animal telepathy to instruct her to do?’
He shrugs, as if the answer is obvious. ‘To find the Singers.’
My heart seems to screech to a halt. ‘What’re you talking about?’
Fox’s gaze locks on mine. ‘Blaze,’ he says softly. ‘The Rain Singers … they’re alive.’