Fire Within: Book Two of Fire and Stone (Stories of Fire and Stone 2) (11 page)

“I think I could do something like this,” Sosen confirmed, and Esset felt another thrill. He still had to rescue Toman—if he was even alive—but this made him hopeful anyways.

“So if I can get Toman here, then you’ll do this?” Esset asked.

“If the council gives its permission?” Sosen asked, looking around the table eyes were met all around and nods given by each.

“Permission granted,” Councilor Ksendra said.

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. If I can get Toman back, I’ll need you to do this right away,” Esset replied.

“That wouldn’t be a problem,” Sosen assured him.

“Thank you, Shaper Sosen,” Esset said.

“And you are more than welcome to stay with us as long as you like,” Councilor Ksendra added. “Both before and after this affair.”

“Thank you. I imagine I’ll be taking you up on that,” Esset replied. Councilor Ksendra inclined her head to him.

“Now then, if that is everything?” she asked. He nodded. He wanted to speak to Sergeant Warthog, but he would have everything he needed from the Nadra.

“Then this meeting is adjourned.” Most of the council members departed, some with respectful nods to Esset, which were returned. Finally Esset turned his back on the empty table and leaned against it as he ran his fingers through his hair. Only the sergeant, Tseka, Nassata, and Kessa remained with him.

“Battle’s just beginning,” Sergeant Warthog said, eyeing the dark circles under Esset’s eyes.

“I know,” Esset replied. “What do you know, Sergeant?”

“Obviously I tried to find out what happened to you boys, but there wasn’t much I could do. At first, there was silence. I sent someone to the mountains, and he reported about the crater. Since I didn’t hear back from you two, I went underground and continued my hunt from there. I don’t think Moloch was after me, but I never did hear from Erizen, either. I sent word to your parents that you were dead. Then, after several months, I began getting reports of stone soldiers doing Moloch’s bidding. That’s when I came to warn the Nadra—I wasn’t sure how Toman’s animations would behave with Moloch in control.”

Esset frowned—he wasn’t sure either. “I’m pretty sure a new animator could take control of them. If he knew about them.”

“As I feared. Well, I guess Moloch didn’t know about the ones down here then, because there had been no trouble. Still, we cleared them out and destroyed them, just in case,” Sergeant Warthog said.

“Wise,” Esset agreed.

“After visiting the Nadra, I made a temporary base in a new location and things continued quietly for a while, business as usual. I kept tabs on Moloch as best I could without attracting attention, but then a mage came sniffing for me. I don't know if he was sent by Moloch or not, but I wasn’t taking the chance. I decided to lie low here; I hate being out of the loop, but it was a matter of self-preservation. That was about a couple months ago.”

“So you don’t know if Toman’s still alive,” Esset said. Sergeant Warthog shook her head.

“No, but there’s a chance he is,” she replied. “The gloves block other magics, and according to my reports, Moloch is still in command of his regular magics. He was quiet for a while after the two of you vanished, and then rumors started circulating that he had weakened, and some of the other Dark Lords started a revolt. He crushed them. After that, I began getting reports of stone creatures and soldiers in his service. Since then… Well, it’s been the usual for him. He erased another town off the map just before I went underground.”

Esset shook his head, angry at the news. Then he felt himself grow warm and forced himself to let the anger drain away; the effort left him exhausted.

“You can’t change the last two years,” Nassata said. Esset frowned.

“But for me, barely two weeks have passed. I woke up after two years with no reserves, and precious little to work with. I’ve spent most of that the time trying to find a cure that I don’t even know will work, for someone I don’t know for sure is alive, and I just—” Esset shook his head to clear it.

“You’re exhausted,” Nassata pointed out.

“I don’t have time to be exhausted. I need a plan to get Toman free, and then I need to get him away from Moloch,” Esset objected.

Tseka frowned. “But when you’re exhausted, you make mistakes. That’s a fact of life. It’s better to wait, and rest, and pull off a successful mission, than to rush in and botch everything. You want to rescue Toman, yes? Then be smart.”

Tseka smacked him upside the back of the head. Esset was shocked—for all their tactile tendencies, the Nadra never
struck
one another, even in play. Blows were only exchanged during sparring, no other time. Kessa looked at Tseka disapprovingly, but the sergeant and Nassata just looked amused. Evidently Nassata and Tseka were picking up bad habits from the old mercenary.

“Go get some rest. We’ll talk when you get up,” Sergeant Warthog said decisively. “Kessa, can you make sure he gets to the guest rooms?”

“Sure,” she agreed. She took him by the arm and tugged gently, and he shot her an “et tu?” look but decided not to fight. Somewhere inside, he knew they were right. He just couldn’t stand not working towards finding Toman when Moloch could be torturing his brother right that moment.

Kessa led Esset to his room, a room he recognized from their last stay. Esset dropped his things unceremoniously on the ground and sat heavily on the bed. He put his forehead in his hands and exhaled, trying to get into a state where he felt more in control. He didn’t notice at first that Kessa was hovering awkwardly. Only when she started to move towards the door did he even realize she was still there.

“Hey, sorry, I’m really out of it,” he said, gesturing for her to come back.

“Understandable. Will you be okay?” she asked. She moved closer and the end of her tail snaked out and curled around his calf.

“I hope so.” A lot of that depended on what had happened to Toman. Knowing would make or break his sanity. He hadn’t yet faced the thought of what he’d do if Toman were dead.

“How about you? Have you been doing okay? It’s been two years, what have you been doing?” Esset suddenly welcomed a distraction.

“Well, I’m still painting scales…” Kessa began, some of her old shyness returning.

“I noticed your new pattern. I like it,” Esset complimented her. They’d been more geometric before, but now they were more stylized; tiny flowing shapes wove around each other, the designs delicate and subtle instead of seeming busy.

“Thank you,” Kessa replied, ducking her head in the equivalent of a blush. “But… I have also been doing other things. I was very sad when I heard you and Toman were dead. It made me want to do something—it made me realize that we all need to be strong to survive. You helped us, and it made me ashamed that I was capable of so little. So I have been getting training from Nassata and Tseka to teach me to defend myself. Most others disapprove, but…”

Esset almost felt like she’d driven a dagger through his heart—innocent, naïve Kessa was growing up. Well, she hadn’t been
that
young before, but still, she’d had her eyes opened to the harsh realities of the world, and that made him sad.

“You disapprove too,” she said, not phrasing it as a question but clearly seeking confirmation.

“No, not at all. It just makes me sad; sad that life has been so unkind that it drove you to it. No, I approve very much. You’ve grown since I last saw you. You’re much more confident,” he replied. Kessa brightened.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I feel stronger, even if I can’t match any of the warriors.”

“I doubt you’d ever need to. You really only need to use self-defense when there’s no other option. If you must, you can defend yourself long enough until you see an opening to escape,” Esset said. Kessa nodded.

“Nassata said training me was conditional—I had to promise that I would only fight if I had to. If possible, I was to try to get away instead,” Kessa clarified.

“Nassata is wise. You’re lucky to have her as a teacher.”

Kessa nodded her agreement. Then she peered at Esset.

“You’re tired. I should let you rest,” she said.

“No,” Esset replied. “Stay. Tell me about things that have happened since the last time I was here.” He felt the sudden urge not to be alone. He was too much in turmoil to sleep yet—maybe Kessa’s stories would relax him. He stretched out on the bed and Kessa stretched her length of coils across the floor, resting her chin on her hands and her hands on his stomach. He didn’t mind the position—it was actually rather comfortable.

“Well, Tseka is always causing trouble…” Kessa began. Esset smiled; that sounded about right. Kessa told a story about how Tseka tried to haze Sergeant Warthog when she first arrived—just like Tseka had hazed Toman and Esset when they’d first come to Salithsa—but the sergeant had given as good as she’d gotten. After that Kessa told another story, and then another, until Esset’s eyelids grew heavy and he sank off to sleep.

He dreamed. He was running, frantically trying to reach his brother in time. He was tripped up a thousand times, just like when Ateala had captured Toman. When he finally burst through the door, his brother was still alive, but that was no mercy. His brother was there, screaming and writhing in agony. Moloch was there, laughing; he turned to face Esset and with a nonchalant flick of his fingers, Esset found himself bound, forced to watch Toman die, slowly, before him.

“Esset! Esset!” A faint voice called his name as he struggled futilely against his bonds, his mind too muddled to incant a summon.

“
Esset
!” A sharp sensation on Esset's face shocked his eyes open. He was in the bedroom, and Kessa cowered against him. Fire danced around them. Two great rippling sheets of it blackened the walls while smaller balls of fire flickered and bobbed between them. Tiny flamelets hovered everywhere in between. Esset’s shock froze him until Kessa whimpered when the fire came too close.

Esset locked down on the panic, the terror, and the helpless rage that had welled up from within him during the dream, and he tried to dispel them. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, then out. The fires fluttered, and the sheets of flames shuddered and dissipated while the fireballs lessened into smaller flamelets.

“Kessa, it’s okay,” Esset reassured her as he calmed himself enough that even the tiny dancing wisps of flame had vanished. He was surprised she’d clung to him—his skin was uncomfortably hot to touch.

“Are you okay?” she asked immediately, helping him sit up even though he was fine.

“Yeah. Are you? I’m so sorry.” Esset was far more concerned about her.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Sorry I slapped you.” Esset blinked; so that’s what the stinging sensation had been. Honestly, he didn’t mind; better that than remaining in that nightmare.

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for waking me up.”

“What was that?” Kessa asked.

“That…was me,” Esset replied ruefully. “Ever since I summoned the phoenix, that’s been happening. I was having a nightmare, and I guess that’s enough to set it off.” The last part he cursed under his breath. “Darkfire take it, I don’t need this.”

“No, you don’t,” Kessa agreed sympathetically. “So just go back to sleep. I’ll stay here, so if it happens again, you won’t get injured.” Esset looked at her in surprise.

“What about you? I don’t want to hurt you,” he replied.

“I’ll be fine. Just rest, and I’ll wake you if anything happens.” Her response was totally certain. She was still tense, but she smoothed his hair with one hand to comfort him.

Esset stared at Kessa, his mind failing to make sense of things until she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down onto the bed.

“Sleep,” she suggested again.

“Thank you,” Esset finally said, exhaustion winning out. Maybe tomorrow he’d understand it. He hoped the rest of the night would pass peacefully. Sleep claimed him a lot faster than he thought it would, but he didn’t get his wish.

The worn stone floors were comfortable beneath Tseka’s scales the next morning as she finished re-braiding a section of the harness around her torso. Nadran hair was tougher than human hair, but it still needed care, and keeping the woven-hair harness intact meant spending time at it. It wasn’t a favorite task of Tseka’s. It was about as appealing as scale-painting, which fortunately, as a Warrior, she didn’t have to do. Besides, she liked her red scales exactly as they were.