Burning Bright

[maderr]

Chapter Nine

“So what exactly are we going to do, Raz?”

“I’ll figure it out when we get there,” Raz said, then added, “though ‘don’t get shot’ is definitely a part of it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Shio said.

Shinju muttered something beneath her breath, and Raz didn’t ask her to repeat it. He kept his eyes ahead, willing the royal capital to appear on the horizon. Moving as quickly as they possibly could, it would take them two days to reach it. Hopefully they’d overtake the merc that had Pechal long before that, but he wasn’t counting on it. Thieves were fast, but mercs with a small fortune just two days away were going to be faster.

“Fire and ash!” Raz shouted. “Why can’t we be there sooner?”

“Because we don’t have horses – nasty beasts – and swimming wouldn’t save any time,” Shio said matter-of-factly. “Besides, you probably can’t swim.”

“Not unless swimming is another way of saying sink like a rock,” Raz replied. “I hate water.”

Shio made a face. “I don’t know why. The water makes sense. Land only confuses me.”

“What, you spend all your time on a ship?”

The sisters sighed. “Something like that,” Shinju said, sounding vaguely amused.

Raz didn’t feel like puzzling out why. Besides, they seemed to enjoy keeping their little secret, whatever it was. Pechal. He had to find Pechal. How had he let him get away. Raz wanted to scream. Or punch something. Someone. Resisting the urge to lash out mindlessly, he simply increased his pace to all but running, ignoring the protests from behind him.

“We’ll have to stop to eat sometime,” he heard Shio say.

“And then we can drug him?” Shinju countered. “Raz, you’re going to exhaust yourself. We’ll never get him back if you kill yourself trying to get there.”

Raz ignored them. If he’d been paying more attention to his surroundings and not moping over a memory of green eyes – which belonged to the man who would kill Pechal! – then he would have noticed the mercs sooner and maybe then Pechal wouldn’t be on his way to die.

“Stop killing yourself over it, Raz.” Shio’s voice was unusually gentle. “As hard as you try, as careful watch as you keep, there is always a shark no one can stop.”

“He’s my brother!” Raz exploded. “I promised to look after him and I let them take him away!” He bit his tongue on saying anything more, and was grateful when the sisters did not try to comfort him. There was no comforting. He’d failed. “We have to reach them before they reach the capital,” he said after several minutes. “If they make it to the palace, he’s beyond our reach. I…” he drifted off, then spoke again, voice barely audible. “I don’t understand…Pechal…”

“We can only do our best,” Shio said. “Ultimately, the oceans control all that dwell in them.”

Raz smiled weakly. “A way of saying fate controls everything?” He sighed. “So Pechal is fated to die? Because he just happened to be a piece of some god nobody remembers?”

“Zhar Ptitka,” Shinju said. “The Holy Lord of Fire, Father of Life and Death.”

Shio continued. “Beautiful and knowing, cold and proud. Slain by anger and jealousy.”

Raz shuddered, but was unable to say why. “Stop it. Talking about it will get you dead faster than one of your scorching sharks.”

“Does it look as though a shark has gotten close enough to hurt me?” Shio asked idly, and for a moment a silver dagger flashed. “Let them try. Should they actually succeed, the fury of our sisters will make them regret it.”

“Just how many sisters do you have?” He looked at Shinju. “I would think two of you is plenty enough in the world.”

Shio and Shinju laughed. “We have many sisters, and some of them would make us look like mere babes.”

“That I do not want to see,” Raz said. “So drop the god talk.”

Shrugging, the sisters fell into silence.

What if the mercs had kept horses somewhere? If so, there was no way they’d ever catch up to them. What if Pechal was about to die? What if he was already dead? Raz fought back the panic trying to get out. It wouldn’t help. Pechal was counting on him.

A sound from Shio was the only warning he got, before Raz was hit hard from behind and found himself with a mouthful of dirt. Choking, coughing, he struggled to get free of the bone-crushing weight on top of him.

“Knock it off, cat,” Ivan said, though he was laughing. He held out a hand and helped Raz to his feet. “I think you have too much fun doing that.”

Butting Ivan’s hand, the cat then turned to Shio and Shinju, rubbing against each of them before twining back to Ivan.

“What are you doing here?” Raz demanded.

“Helping,” Ivan said calmly. “And I’ve business of my own in the capital anyway. What’s your plan?”

Raz sighed. “I don’t have one, beyond ‘find Pechal.’ I try not to think too hard on it.”

Beside them Ailill suddenly ceased to be a cat and was once more human. “The ramifications of finding your friend and whisking him out of the country are certainly daunting. Then again, Pozhar has made something of a career out of defying their Sacred Firebird.” He smiled. “No doubt you are doing your ancestors proud.”

“Or shaming them by repeating their mistakes,” Shio said tartly. “To kill a god is terrible. To think you do not need a god is arrogant and foolish.” She tilted her head up to look at the sky, hand going out to find and hold Shinju’s. “To anger a god is frightening; to disappoint a god is shameful.”

“The gods lost their way,” Ailill said. “Some may never find their way back. That is not our fault.”

Shinju looked at him in contempt. “The gods trusted their people, their children. They were betrayed.”

“You can’t know that. No one can.”

“The oceans do not forget,” Shio said vehemently.

Ailill looked at the sisters, eyes narrowed in thought. Then they widened. “Oh,” he said softly.

“Precisely,” Shinju said.

“What did we just miss?” Raz asked, looking at Ivan.

Ivan shrugged. “Who cares? Let the god-devoted squabble. We should look into getting horses – if not to get us there, then definitely to get us away. If – when – we manage to get Pechal, we’ll never outrun them on foot. Unless you’re a giant cat of course, but not all of us have that handy little trick.”

Ailill laughed. “Trust me, there are more problems than benefits involved with my Form.”

Raz lifted his brows went up. “Such as?”

“Nothing of interest outside of Verde,” Ailill said, shaking his head. “Least of all to me.” He laughed at the glares Raz and Ivan settled on him. “Merely politics. As hard as we try not to judge by Form, there is always trouble when a lion must take orders from a pig.”

Ivan laughed. “That would certainly make me loathe to anger the lion were I the pig.”

“As I said,” Ailill replied dryly. “There is always trouble.”

“Do tell what sort of animal a giant white cat would see as trouble,” Ivan said.

Ailill made a face. “My Form brings nothing but trouble when I am home. That is why I try to be home as little as possible.” He motioned impatiently. “But this is very boring. Surely we have more interesting things to discuss than gods and animals.”

“We could discuss how precisely we’re going to get Pechal back, but that just seems to depress everyone,” Shinju said. “How about what we’ll do once we have him back.”

“Assuming we’re not trapped like rats somewhere,” Ivan said. “We need to get him to the harbor as quickly as possible. Easier said than done, as that’s the first place they’ll look. Never mind the matter of securing passage.”

“If we can get him to the harbor,” Ailill said. “I can secure passage.”

Ivan looked at him. “I don’t know much about politics – until now I’ve done a good job of staying out of them – but I’m pretty certain that you’ll be in a world of hurt if it’s ever discovered a Highlander helped a handful of Pozharian peasants smuggle a Candidate out of the country. Nor can I imagine there are a whole lot of giant, white cats running around the Highlands.”

“No,” Ailill said with a sigh. “I’m fairly distinctive. But,” he continued with a smile, “no one will know of my involvement, and as I said – with my Form, I am always in some manner of trouble.”

“You’re being more elusive than I like,” Ivan said with a frown.

Ailill looked at him, eyes hot. “I’ll be more forthright later.”

“We’re not talking about the same thing, are we?”

“You understood what I meant, therefore we must be.”

Ivan rolled his eyes.

“Can we stop soon?” Shio asked. “It’s hot. I wouldn’t mind finding some water and cooling off for a bit.” She looked up at the sun blazing high overhead, summer hanging on tenaciously, still fighting off autumn. “How do you people endure this so far inland?”

“There should be a stream not too far away, if we turn off the road a bit a mile up. We can rest there,” Raz said, though it was obvious he was reluctant to even think about stopping. “And it’s not that hot.”

Ivan looked at him like he was crazy, and Raz noticed for the first time that everyone was sweating. “I thought it felt nice,” he muttered. “Fine, we’ll stop. But not for too long.”

“Seeing as Ailill and I didn’t sneak off without even breakfast,” Ivan said, “we can scout ahead if you guys want to rest a bit.” He frowned. “Ailill couldn’t find any trail but yours earlier. Maybe we’ll have more luck this time.”

“No trail?” Raz asked. “How is that possible? They went tearing out of the forest, we followed their trail easily enough unit the forest ended. The main road showed signs of use after that…but surely you must have noticed something?”

Ailill shook his head. “Nothing. It’s like they were never here, so far as scent goes.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything about this to be easy,” Raz said glumly.

“Come on,” Shio said, latching onto his arm. “We need to rest, and you’re resting whether you like it or not. Let those two go ahead. We’ll catch fish and I’ll fix it so even you like it.”

“You always eat your fish raw,” Raz said, reluctantly letting them drag him along to the stream that was precisely where he said it would be.

Shio grinned, baring her teeth. “It tastes best that way. But I do know how to cook it. Here, you sit. We’re going to cool off and then I’ll make you lunch.”

“You two have been friends right from the start,” Raz said, sitting down but refusing to admit it felt wonderful not to be moving. “But you’ve changed a lot. When we first met, you’d barely talk. Now you make nearly all the food and you’re being nice to me.”

Shinju and Shio looked at each other, then shrugged. Shio laughed softly. “Earning forgiveness, we have found, is not so awful as we first thought. Though this country is far too hot. I miss the sea.”

“And good fish,” Shinju added, following her sister to the stream.

Raz barely heard a word they said, beyond the two words that were echoing like clanging bells in his head. Earning forgiveness.

I’m so sorry.

I was wrong.

Don’t deserve…

Never meant for this…

Looking at you hurts…

Can you ever forgive me?

“Raz!”

He woke with a gasp, and for a moment could make sense of nothing, awake but still lost in a dream of jewel-green eyes set in a face so beautiful the sorrow went unnoticed.

“Raz?” Shio asked. “What’s wrong?” She helped him sit up, then reached up to touch his cheek, and Raz suddenly realized he’d been crying.

“Bad dream,” he said hoarsely. “Didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep. How long?”

“Maybe about twenty, thirty minutes. Lunch is ready, and then we’ll get back on the road. You shouldn’t worry so much – it’ll lead to mistakes.” But she leaned in and hugged him, and Raz hugged her back, grateful for the contact, enjoying the scent of grass and salt-water that mingled on her skin. “Come on,” she said at last, and shook him lightly. “Everything will be all right, and in a few days I’ll make a rabbit stew and tell everyone how you were crying.”

“You will not,” Raz threatened. “Or I’ll take away all your fish.”

“Try it,” Shinju said.

Raz grinned and let them drag him to the small campfire they’d made, obediently eating and enjoying the fish they’d prepared though it all tasted like sawdust.

Pechal. He was worried about Pechal. Now that he was awake, he was starting to feel sick with worry again. If they didn’t find him soon, Pechal was going to die.

Why then had he been dreaming about Pechal’s killer?

“Hey!” Ivan called, appearing at the top of the bank. “You have to come see this. Hurry!”

The three wasted no time, ditching their food and dousing the fire, grabbing their things and running after Ivan, who was already running back the way he’d come. They ran for at least a mile, following Ivan through fields well away from the main road.

“We found it by chance,” Ivan said, slowing down as they crested a small hill. He motioned to the bottom of it. “Ailill smelled death.”

At the bottom of the hill, a location clearly picked for its seclusion, was the remains of a campsite, the smell of smoke strong. And something else, something vile, but Raz didn’t recognize it.

Three bodies were spread out around what had been a campfire, and from the spilled food it looked as though they had stopped to eat. Slowly the group ventured down the hill, and as they reached it Raz finally realized what had killed them – and what the smell was.

They’d been burned. He covered his mouth and looked away, unable to bear the sight of burned skin, other places where it was raw, places where it wasn’t there at all. He looked elsewhere, desperate for a distraction, rolling down one sleeve of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose.

After a moment, he realized what was strangest of all. Whatever had killed the men hadn’t touched the rest of the campsite. Nothing else was burned, and if whatever it was had been bad enough to kill three men…why was everything else untouched?

“Dragons lend me strength…” Shio said in horror. She sank to her knees to examine the nearest man. “What manner of fire does this?”

Nearby, Ailill gave a low growl.

“I feel sick,” Ivan said. “And I don’t mean in a squeamish way – I mean in a magic way.”

Raz frowned at him. “Yeah,” he agreed falteringly, though he hadn’t felt any sickness but that brought on by three burned bodies. “What did it?” He suddenly realized how stupid he was being? “Where’s Pechal? Assuming these are the men that took him…”

“Probably,” Ivan said. He stroked the back of one finger across his goatee, thinking. “There are two horses here,” he said, nodding to the two dark brown horses in question, which like the rest of the camp seemed wholly unaffected by whatever had killed the men. “But three men. It’s likely somebody, hopefully Pechal, ran off with one. But…if they had horses, they should be farther than this. In addition to that, we should have been able to pick up a trail.”

Silence fell as everyone considered Ivan’s words. Soundlessly Ailill approached one of the bodies, pawing and nosing until he managed to move it, giving a soft, satisfied sounding growl when he latched onto the back upon which the body had fallen. He took it to Ivan, who accepted it with a puzzled look. “Why don’t you just change back, instead of making me figure everything out?”

Nipping Ivan’s hands, Ailill obediently shifted. “Sorry. It’s sort of…easy to fall into it. That’s why I try not to use it at all when I travel. There are some, back home, who spend more time in their Form than human.”

Ivan said something that only Ailill could hear, but Raz saw it made them both smile. He shook his head, mostly amused but also…that ache, deep in his chest, flared slightly. Like he’d lost something. Or never had it. Furious with himself, Raz shoved the thoughts aside and focused on what was important.

He realized Ailill was speaking. “I smelled magic on this,” Ailill said with a frown. “But whatever was in it is long gone. A pity.” He dropped the sack he’d given to Ivan with a sigh. “It is my uneducated guess that they were using fire feathers, at least to some degree – unless your country has some other means of using magic.”

“No…” Raz shrugged. “I mean, they could. Peasants and criminals don’t use magic…or at least we didn’t…and I’ve never heard of the nobles using anything but fire feathers. Our country doesn’t really have magic anymore. Even the priests and all have to use fire feathers to cast spells.”

Ailill looked troubled. “Then either they used magic not from this country, or someone gave them fire feathers and taught them how to use them.”

“The earl?” Ivan asked. “That’s unlikely. From something he told me, there are very many of those just lying around. If they were caught using them, the penalty is a confinement so long it may as well be death. Depending on what they did with them, it very well could be death. And besides, even nobles don’t know much about magic. How could they teach it to a group of mercs?”

“Someone knew enough to curse you,” Ailill pointed out. “I’m sure it would not take much skill to learn how to cover ones tracks. But that still does not explain what killed these men.”

“High magic,” Shinju said. “Poorly used.”

“Like a child who doesn’t understand quite what he’s doing,” Shio added.

“Meaning we have no idea what just happened here,” Raz said tiredly. “I say we take the horses.” He glanced at the bodies, feeling sick all over again but unable to simply ignore them. “I…there isn’t much we can do for them, is there?” His throat tightened, as if he were choking on something, and no more words would come. Because he didn’t have them, didn’t know what to say.

Go in peace…

Burn bright…

From the ashes…

“Be reborn,” Raz whispered, and realized when the others looked at him that he’d spoken aloud. “Sorry. I don’t. know…I didn’t mean…”

No one said anything, and when Ailill looked as though he were about to speak, Raz turned away and stalked to the nearest horse. Checking that everything was in place, he mounted and looked to the others. “Are we going or not?”

Though all gave him pensive, concerned looks, no one said anything. “Shio, Shinju, you’d better each ride with one of us. I’ve seen you on horses…”

“Vile beasts,” Shio said with a grimace. “Fine.” She walked over to Raz and allowed him to help her up, arm tight around his waist as she settled in. Nearby, Ivan and Shinju mounted the second horse. Raz summoned a grin as he looked at Ailill. “I hope I was safe in assuming you don’t require a horse?”

“Not until we get closer to people,” Ailill said with a smile, and shifting into his Form he led them away from the strange campsite and toward the city.



Chapter Ten


“High Priest,” Earl Zholty greeted politely without looking up from the paper he was reading. “My assistant said you wanted to speak with me.”

“Peace of the Evening,” Dym said levelly. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Zholty replied. “There is always work to be done.” He finally shoved his papers away and looked up. “What did you need?” Though he was polite in manner and speech, there was an obvious impatience in his eyes and movements.

“Several of my priests were counting the storeroom, and reported to me that an entire box of lesser fire feathers is missing. I thought perhaps you might know of its whereabouts, and I simply missed a note informing me you were taking them.” He stared calmly at Zholty, green eyes dark, intent.

Zholty pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned his monocle, then placed it back over his right eye. “Certainly not. I supervise all matters pertaining to magic, but we both know I leave the actual handling of those things to you. What would I do with twenty-five fire feathers?”

“I wonder what anyone would do with that many,” Dym said. “I had hoped the solution would be as simple as you needed them for a project I had not heard about. Rare is the problem, however, that has a simple solution. If such were the case, they would not be problems. Thank you for your time, Earl. I shall keep you informed of my investigation.”

“Do that,” Zholty said. “Perhaps I should consider posting guards in the cathedral, if security is beyond your capability.” Zholty caught Dym’s eyes, his own hard.

Dym returned the stare calmly.

Zholty dropped his gaze. “This will, of course, have to be reported.”

“Of course,” Dym said, and with a bow left the office.

Back in the hallway, he wandered the palace lost in thought. People stopped speaking as he approached, and behind his back the whispers sprang up with more fervor than usual. Dym ignored them, focused entirely on his thoughts. His expression never changed, but his bright eyes steadily darkened in color, until they very nearly seemed black in the weak light of the hallways.

Eventually he wound his way back to the Cathedral, and there dismissed the few priests who had not been sent out to hunt down the Candidate. He walked the perimeter of the empty cathedral, gazing at the dozens of windows, the painted ceilings, his feet knowing where to walk while his eyes looked elsewhere.

He paused when the door opened and waited patiently as Duke Krasny approached. “Peace of the Evening, your Grace. How may I be of assistance”

“There is never a lack of exotic rumors about you, High Priest. Why, I do not know. You are the most boring man I have ever met in my life, as well as the most foolish. But the latest bought of rumors is hard to ignore, and my cousin will not answer my questions – which alone tells me much. I have come to you for answers, and to tell you to stay away from her. I know not what games you play, and I cannot yet catch you at them, but if I find she is tangled up in them I will see that you suffer dearly for it.”

Dym titled his head slightly in a small nod. “I play no games with the Princess. What are your questions?”

“What is your relationship with her?”

“We are friends and allies. The Princess had few confidantes, and with his Majesty sick, she feels in desperate need of them.” Dym contemplated him. “You do not believe me.”

“Why should I? It is hard to trust a man who seems to feel no remorse for the things you do.”

Dym’s eyes flashed bright, then dimmed. “All that I do is for Pozhar and its people. There is nothing to regret in my actions. I am sorry if your Grace feels differently.”

Nikolai turned to regard the window before which Dym stood. It was tucked away in a small nook that must have once housed a small altar, and the image it depicted made little sense to the Duke. Long and narrow, it was a set of six circles, each outlined in yellow glass. Within each circle was a different image – at the top a young man, dressed in the same shade of red worn by the priests, below that an image of a plain-looking woman, below that an orange-red cat, followed by a pale yellow rose, a man in a hat common to farmers, followed by a woman in a red dress and gold grown. The images were simplistic in design, but caught the eye.

“Does the window interest your Grace?” Dym asked softly.

“It makes no sense,” Nikolai conceded reluctantly. “Every time I am in this wretched place, these stupid things confuse me. Who had so much free time that they would put up such nonsensical things?”

Dym’s lips curved in amusement, but it was there so briefly it might not have been there at all. “These are all left over from the days when the Firebird still lived, of course. The true meanings have been lost over time, but this one is not so hard to figure out.” He pointed to the topmost image. “A priest,” he said. “The first life, or more likely one of the more important ones for this soul.” He pointed to the next. “The next life, the soul reborn as a peasant woman, then as a cat, as a rose, a farmer…and lastly as a noble…perhaps a Queen.”

Nikolai snorted in contempt. “Absurdity. If we truly are close to destroying a god, we are indeed better off without him. How can a person be a cat? A flower?”

“Some lives are punishment, others reward, others a chance to start anew…others a price.” Dym shrugged. “Or so it once was said.”

Nikolai eyed him. “You know far too much about what is forbidden, High Priest.”

“One cannot be a soldier without learning even those things he does not want to know,” Dym replied calmly. “How does one catch an enemy if he does not know him from a friend?”

“You’ve a smooth tongue, no doubt about that,” Nikolai said sourly. “See that you keep it from my cousin.”

“The Princess is my friend, nothing more,” Dym replied. “And now if your Grace does not mind, I wonder if I might pose a question to you.”

Nikolai grunted.

“A box of fire feathers has gone missing. Earl Zholty claims to know nothing about it, which further concerns me. I trust my priests implicitly. I am hoping you might know their whereabouts, and somewhere I was simply not informed?”

“An entire box?” Nikolai asked, frowning in concern. “That’s no small matter, especially as there’s only a handful of us who can use them. How did you let an entire box slip past you, High Priest?”

“I do not know,” Dym said. “That is why I had hoped I was simply not informed, as has happened before.” Though his voice remained level, there was a reprimand in it.

“Perhaps your priests need to relearn how to count.”

“Perhaps,” Dym agreed noncommittally. “Is there anything else I can do for your Grace?”

“How goes the hunt for the Candidate?”

“As always, it is a slow process. We will find him in time, never fear.”

Nikolai looked at him. “Just don’t let him get away again, hmm? The more quietly this is done, the less the people will fuss. So close, we can’t cause an upset.”

“Of course,” Dym agreed. “All will go according to plan – there is no cause for worry.”

“We shall see, High Priest, we shall see.” Nikolai turned to leave, and jumped in surprise as the heavy cathedral doors banged open, admitting a rush of people and a flurry of noise. The sounds echoed through the massive cathedral, creating a deafening cacophony. “Enough!” he roared.

Dym spoke more levelly when silence fell. “What is going on here?”

“Candidate,” a priest gasped, and moved aside as guards pushed through the excited throng of people who had come to see what became of the stir created. Roughly they threw a man to the hard marble floor. He was slight of build, short of stature, his hair a tangled mess of large, blonde curls. Nikolai strode over and order the man put on his feet.

The man cried out in pain when a guard hauled him up, and his head flew up as he desperately sought an ally in the crowd of gawkers, eyes a bright, blazing gold.

“Enough,” Dym’s quiet voice cut through the noise like knife. He stared at he guard holding roughly to the Candidate. “Let him go.”

The guard hastily obeyed, and backed quickly into the crowd, letting it swallow him.

Dym looked at every person who had entered the Cathedral, guards curious to see the outcome, a few stray nobles curious to see what had caused such a commotion. One by one they dropped their eyes, curiosity turning into something that felt like shame. “Get out,” he said quietly.

When the people had gone, Dym approached the Candidate and held out a hand. “Come,” he said gently. “We will get you taken care of.” He motioned to a couple of the priest who had remained. “Take him to my chambers.”

“Why bother?” Nikolai demanded impatiently. “You have your Candidate, get it over with.”

Dym turned slowly around and locked gazes with Nikolai, eyes a blazing green. “What if tomorrow reveals you to be the next Candidate, your Grace? Would you like it if we simply ‘got it over with’? Could you even do it?”

“Just what are you saying?” Nikolai snapped. “I’m no coward.”

“Easy to say when you are not the one about to die,” Dym said quietly, then turned and walked away.

As he traveled the halls from the cathedral to his chambers, the people lingering in the halls quickly found other places to be, whispers dying to stark silence. Dym entered his chambers and finally released a whisper-soft sigh, closing his eyes. He opened them a moment later, and walked quietly through his rooms to the bathing chamber, dismissing his priests with a gesture.

“What is your name?” he asked quietly, watching the man sitting in a corner of the large bath.

“Pechal,” he replied faintly, not looking up from the water.

Dym walked around the edge of the tub and knelt beside him, slightly behind. He frowned as he noticed the bruises on one forearm, obviously made by rough hands. Gently taking the wrist, ignoring the way Pechal went still with fear, he pressed a soft kiss to each of the bruises. “I am sorry you were hurt,” he said, and let Pechal take his arm back.

“W-w-why are you being so…everyone else has been so rough.” Pechal laughed. “I mean, I’m just a homeless thief, I’m used to rough, but…”

“You were mistreated,” Dym said quietly. “You should be treated with honor, as you would have been had my men found you first.” He reached out and gently began to untangle the haphazard curls as best he could. “I apologize that you were so ill-treated.”

Pechal shuddered and splashed water on his face, as if trying to wash something away. His voice was shaky when he spoke. “You’re going to kill me. Why are you being so nice?” But rather than give Dym a chance to answer, he continued talking, as if it was hard to stop once he’d begun. “I haven’t felt right since I ran, when the priests used the feather on me.”

Dym listened quietly, his only movements to wash Pechal, who did not seem to really notice what was going on.

“Then there were the men that tried to kill me…” Pechal said softly. “And the last group, the ones that got me…they had fire feathers.” He pulled his arm from where Dym had been washing it and buried his face in his hands. “I killed them, but I didn’t mean to. Raz will hate me, when he sees what I did to them. I didn’t mean to do it. I was just tired of it all, angry. And cold. Even now I’m cold. But I didn’t mean to kill them. I just wanted to go home.” He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

Dropping the washing cloth he’d been holding, Dym awkwardly pulled Pechal out of the bath and embraced him. Softly he kissed his cheek, and let Pechal cry, his own expression shuttered, save for his eyes which blazed bright green with anger.

“Why?” Pechal asked eventually, voice hoarse from crying. “I don’t understand any of it.”

Dym slowly got them to stand up, and wrapped Pechal in a soft, cream-colored robe. “Why the men were trying to kill you, I do not know. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Why must you die?” Dym stroked his hair, untangling a few more of the curls, then helped Pechal into his bed. It was large, piled with thick blankets and a velvet coverlet of dark green. Curtains of the same material were tied back with silver ribbon, stark against the near-black color of the wood. He made sure Pechal was settled before moving to where a tray had been set by a servant who knew by now what was expected and fixed a cup of tea which he brought to Pechal. “Mint,” he said lightly. “You will like it.”

Hesitantly Pechal took it, and did seem to cheer a bit at the taste of mint tea.

“Perhaps it would be easier to explain why you always feel cold…and why I sense you came here on your own, even after you obviously escaped from the men who kidnapped you.” He continued as Pechal nodded. “The fire feathers are used to wake what is sleeping inside you,” Dym said. “Mostly to prove we are not mistaken in identifying the Candidate. Unfortunately, as the days pass, the sleeping powers begin to come truly to life. A fire that begins to burn out of control…” Dym looked him in the eyes, and Pechal stared raptly back. “Pozhar has forgotten nearly all that it once knew, including the fact that though the body dies, the soul forever lives on, constantly reborn into a new life. But your soul…it is but a mere piece. It is searching for the other pieces, which is why you feel cold. It is also the reason you came here.”

Pechal shook his head. “But I’m going to die.”

Dym reached out and cupped Pechal’s face in his hands, tugging him gently forward and kissing him softly. “All will be well, Eminence. Rest, and tell me when you are ready.”

Dazed, Pechal nodded, seemingly oblivious to the tears running down his cheeks. Kissing him once more, Dym sat quietly until Pechal fell asleep, fingers gently brushing away tears, caressing the myriad freckles.

Rising, he left the room, closing the door shut quietly behind him. Wending his way through the halls, he stopped before the royal offices and demanded an audience with the princess.

“Dym!” Sonya stood up as he entered. “Kolya has told me the Candidate was brought in.”

“Yes,” Dym said, and Sonya recoiled at the obvious anger in his voice. “He had some rather interesting things to say. Apparently some men tried to kill him – because he was the Candidate, or so is my impression. Furthermore, he was kidnapped by men in possession of fire feathers – which unfortunately he accidentally used to kill his assailants.”

“Fire feathers? The very ones you said were taken?” Sonya sat down hard. “What is going on?” Her eyes were wide with worry and confusion. Then they narrowed in anger. “I will figure it out. How is the Candidate?”

“Resting,” Dym said quietly. “I sense he will be dead before dawn.”

Sorrow flashed across Sonya’s features. “Any family?”

“He said he was a homeless thief,” Dym said.

“That’s awful,” Sonya said unhappily. “I don’t like to see the families mourn, but…if there is anything you need, let me know. I will figure out what is going on, and who is behind it. I have a sneaking suspicion I’ve a relative involved in this. Now would be an excellent time for one of those ice spells I detest.” She shook her head at the memory. “I am sorry, Dym. If anyone else tries to give you trouble, just have the guards haul them away. I’m sure a few hours in a damp cell will improve behavior around here.”

“Yes, Princess. Thank you.”

“You are the one to be thanked, Dym.” Sonya smiled sadly.

Dym bowed, but did not reply, merely turned and left as quietly as he’d come.

When he returned to his room, Pechal was standing by a window, looking down at the fields beyond the castle. “I think I’m ready,” he said quietly, not turning around to look at Dym. “I don’t want to die…” He finally turned around. “But…”

Dym held out his hand, and Pechal took it, returning the embrace Dym tugged him into. “Who are you?”

“My name is Dym.”

Pechal nodded, and did not repeat his question. “There’s not some big ceremony or something is there? I’m just…I don’t want to be stared at.”

“Just you and me,” Dym said softly. “Once there was a ceremony. Over the years most people have preferred to pretend it does not happen. Come.” Taking Pechal’s hands, he led him through corridors that were deserted, used only by servants who were finished with their chores for the night.

He smiled briefly at Pechal’s look of wonder as they entered the cathedral. “It’s so pretty,” Pechal said. “Raz never wanted to go in the one in the city. I was surprised to see him that day…” his momentary smile collapsed.

Dym’s steps faltered. “Raz…the young man who helped you?”

“Yeah,” Pechal looked gloomily at the floor. “My best friend. We’re like brothers. Grew up on the streets together, made a name for ourselves. If you need something stolen, we’re the ones to come to.” He laughed suddenly. “Raz pulled that job on the stupid earl the other day.” He stopped, eyes widening in panic. “Please don’t tell!”

Dym chuckled, and let his thumb brush the freckles on one cheek. “They will not hear it from me.” He motioned around the room. “Does anything catch your eye?”

“The ceiling,” Pechal responded, eyes once more fastened to it. “That one there,” he said, and pointed.

Dym followed where he indicated and another small smile curved his lips. “The Garden of the Faerie Queen of Verde. Everywhere else in the world, rulers hide themselves inside lavish palaces. But the Faerie Queen is rarely seen inside, or at least traditionally. Once long ago she sat on a throne made from the wood of an ancient oak, in the middle of a splendid garden, surrounded always by her Guardians and Beasts.”

“She’s pretty,” Pechal said. “Like a mother.”

“She is mother to all,” Dym said, and led him through the cathedral to the heavy door behind the main altar. His keys clinked together loudly in the silence of the cathedral, but the sounds faded as he opened the door.

Pechal gasped to the see the Chamber of Night, black and gold and silver, here dark, there bright, shining, like a spell come to life. He began to tremble, calm of only moments before unable to bear the burden of what was about to happen, but did not stop or slow as he followed Dym to the altar table. “This is all there is to it?”

“Simple is best,” Dym said, and moved Pechal so that he was standing before the black marble table.

“Does it mean anything?” Pechal asked. “Or am I just thief to be forgotten?”

Dym cupped his face, jewel-green eyes bright with the intensity his cool voice could not express. “Those who are loved are never forgotten, because those who love never forget.” He ducked his head and kissed Pechal softly, and when he pulled away Pechal had ceased to tremble. “Go in peace, burn bright.” Taking the greater fire feather from his robes, Dym pressed it to his chest.

Pechal gasped briefly in pain, then went still. Slowly the light in his eyes faded. Dym caught him as he fell and lifted the body to the altar, standing quietly as it burst into flame.




Raz woke screaming, sobbing, choking when he could not manage to do both at once. He didn’t notice the hands that tried to hold him still, the words that tried to soothe. Just screamed and sobbed and choked.

Against all his protests they’d stopped for the night, and even Raz knew that nearly falling off his horse three times in the span of ten minute was a bad sign. But still they’d had to all but tie him down.

He fought off the touches trying to console him, shoved them all away, buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “He’s dead,” he managed eventually. “Pechal’s dead.”

“Raz…you don’t know…” Shio said soothingly.

“I know!” Raz bellowed, oblivious to the way everyone around him recoiled, winced. “He’s dead. We’re too late.” He pulled his knees up and gave fully into the sobs, distantly relieved that no one again tried to touch him.

He didn’t deserve to be comforted or soothed. He deserved every last bit of pain.

Because when he’d first woken, it hadn’t been Pechal he’d been thinking about. It wasn’t Pechal he’d been dreaming about.

He’d been dreaming about jewel-green eyes in a sad face, a tall man standing before a black altar, face calm but eyes dark with pain. Pain Raz wanted to ease, soothe, kiss away. If he’d ever had the right to comfort, he didn’t have it now and that hurt most of all.

It was only later he’d realized Pechal was dead, and he hated himself for letting his thoughts go elsewhere. He cried for Pechal, he cried for himself, and he cried because even now, he could not forget those pain-dark eyes.

~End Part One~