Authors: J.A. Pitts
“You know what’s funny?” I asked, the memory suddenly flashing into my mind.
“Hmmm?” Katie asked, looking away from Jai Li’s sleeping form.
“Frederick Sawyer said something about my mother. The last time I saw him in his”—I made air quotes—“human form, he said something about my mother.”
Katie sat up straighter, taking my hand. “You said he saw her at your old place.”
I nodded. “Yeah, but there was more to it. He was amused when I blew up at him. Told him my mother was off the table.”
“Oh, Sarah,” Katie said, patting my thigh. “He was probably messing with you. It’s what he does.”
I leaned back, closing my eyes. “Maybe.”
We spent the rest of the trip just being a family. It was peaceful.
It was also Christmas Eve.
When we got back to Black Briar, the clan was decorating the farm for the holiday. Jimmy looked at me when I carried Jai Li from the car, but he didn’t say anything. Deidre was pleased, though. Damn happy. She took Jai Li from me, riding her into the living room on her lap. Frick and Frack were there, staring, stunned, at the flashing lights over the fireplace. She sat Jai Li on the couch with Trisha, who was stringing popcorn and cranberries for one of the three trees they have on the farm—one in the barn, one in the barracks, and one in the big house.
Deidre began to sing Christmas carols, and Katie joined her, taking off her coat and heading into the living room. The house bustled with Black Briar folks, and most of them seemed to be getting in the mood of the holiday.
“It’s not that we’ve forgotten the dead,” Kyle George said to me. “Rather, we’re celebrating the passing of the dark and the shortening of the night.”
Fair enough, I reckoned. Jimmy went out onto the deck, out into the cold, and I followed. “What’s up, Jim?”
He grabbed a couple chairs that had been tipped against the house to keep the snow from accumulating in the seat. He spun one my way and sat on his own. Snow fell around the farm, covering the world in a blanket of quiet.
“This was delivered,” he said, handing me an envelope.
I opened it, reading the letter inside.
It was from the Order of Mordred. Whoever they were, they were requesting Jimmy to bring Black Briar into the fold. Certain parties wanted to meet with him, to discuss taking over his father’s position in the order.
“I’ve never heard of them,” Jimmy said.
“Contact them,” I said. “See what they have to say.”
“What would happen to Deidre if I disappeared like my parents did?” he asked quietly. “We’ve seen too much bloodshed. Too much pain.”
“And if we’d done nothing?” I asked. “How many would have died?”
He didn’t answer.
“Good of you to allow Trisha to come back here.”
Jimmy shrugged. “She fell in love with the wrong man, let her pain and anger cloud her judgment. In the end, she loves those troll babies. Loves Black Briar as well.” He turned to me and smiled. “Qindra says she can lift the last of the hooks Justin wove into her. We can’t lose her, too. She’ll have a home here, ya know?”
I smiled. “Island of misfit toys.” The metaphor felt right. “We collect the broken ones, give them a place to feel whole.”
He nodded, tapping the envelope against his thigh.
“What about the ring?” I asked.
“Stashed away, along with the other relics. Now that we know what it is, we’ll guard it, keep it away from anyone who may want to use it.”
“Why not destroy it?”
“We’ll try,” he said. “But if my parents didn’t destroy it, they had a reason. I’ll keep researching where I can, see if I can pick up the thread they dropped.”
“And this Mordred crew?”
He looked back at me. “I’ve been trying to figure that out. Arthur’s bastard son. Why would you create an order around him?”
I nodded. “Good question. Maybe we should find out.”
Eighty-seven
F
rederick woke to the sound of angry voices.
“You cannot bring him here,” an elderly voice said, the pitch quavering from fear. “She has no idea of her heritage.”
“He requires sanctuary,” Mr. Philips’s voice rang true and strong. “You are obligated to provide us such.”
“You do not understand,” the old man responded. “He called for Ignacio.”
The quick indrawn breath of Mr. Philips drove Frederick to sit up. “You told her?”
The old man squeaked, dropping the lantern he held.
Frederick could make out Mr. Philips in the shadows. The second man, the elder, was harder to place. “Did you say Ignacio?”
“Yes, my lord,” the elderly man said, bowing toward Frederick.
“Get up, man. Bring the abbot to me.”
“We have not seen the abbot since he went to rouse her, my lord.”
Frederick tried to push himself up on his elbows, but failed. In a breath, Mr. Philips was at his side, kneeling beside him.
“Do not rise, sir. You are gravely wounded. I fear you may yet falter at death’s door.”
“Foolishness,” Frederick said. He made no further attempts to rise.
Bravado
, he thought. He felt near enough to death. “Where are we?” he asked when the blood did not seem to rush so to his brain.
“We are at the abbey,” Mr. Philips said. “Per your prior instructions. If you were ever to fall, to be near death, I was to bring you here. I assumed this was a place of healing, a place where you would revive.”
He couldn’t help it. The chuckle escaped him. Mr. Philips rocked back on his heels. The man was wounded himself, and yet he sought to follow the most dire of contingencies. The last possible of Frederick’s commands.
“Has she been awakened?” he asked, finally.
“That is what I was saying,” the elderly monk said. “The abbot went down to her cell. Your orders were explicit. The fires are raging. There is no going back.”
“Who?” Mr. Philips asked, grasping Frederick’s arm. “Who is this Ignacio?”
“It is code,” Frederick said, letting the finality of it overwhelm him. “In the event of my passing, I could not let the kingdom go to another. I had to have a safeguard.”
“I do not understand,” Mr. Philips said. “What have they done?”
“They…” Frederick paused, the thoughts a riot of uncertainty. “They have hatched my daughter.”
Eighty-eight
L
ater, after the kids were all bedded down and most of the adults had gone off to sleep, Katie wandered back into the kitchen, where I was writing a letter by the light of the Christmas tree.
“What are you doing, baby?” Katie asked, sliding her hands over my shoulders and kissing my neck.
“Writing to Megan,” I said. “Not her fault I can’t get along with Da.”
Katie nodded.
“Oh, and Deidre found these,” I said, holding out a long, thin strip of pictures.
They were pictures from one of those photo booths, with four pictures of me and Katie, laughing and kissing.
“And I have these,” I said, opening my wallet. From inside, I pulled out a similar strip, folded and creased like they hadn’t been looked at for years, which they hadn’t. “Forgot I had these, but when Deidre showed me those, I remembered.”
The other was a strip of pictures showing me and my sister Megan.
“We took those at the state fair, right before I left for college,” I said. “I wanted her to know I kept them.”
“It’s sweet,” she said, massaging my shoulders. I leaned back into her. God, I loved it when she touched me. I closed my eyes, letting her work the kinks out.
“Trisha gonna be okay?” she asked.
I looked across the room to the trolls sleeping at the foot of the couch, where Trisha lay. “Jimmy says Qindra can peel away the last of Justin’s bonds on her. But the magic from the ring may have interfered. It may not be a clean fix.”
“She’s got Frick and Frack,” Katie said quietly. “And we have Jai Li,” she said, lowering her cheek next to mine.
I glanced over to the Christmas tree, where the young girl lay in a nest of blankets and pillows.
“She won’t stop staring at the lights on that tree,” Katie whispered.
“She’s never had Christmas,” I said. “She’s not used to all this.”
Katie sat down next to me, picking up the pictures again. “I think it’s a good thing, you contacting Megan. Let her know you still care about her.”
“Not sure she’s open to it,” I said. “May be too late. But I’m willing to try.”
I sealed the envelope with the letter and the pictures inside. Then I pulled Katie into my lap and watched the people lying scattered around the room.
This is family. The family we choose.
Tor Books by J. A. Pitts
Black Blade Blues
Honeyed Words
Forged in Fire
About the Author
J. A. Pitts is a graduate of the Oregon Coast Writers Workshops and holds degrees in English and library science.
Forged in Fire
is Pitts’s third novel, following
Honeyed Words
and
Black Blade Blues,
which was nominated for the Compton Crook Award.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
FORGED IN FIRE
Copyright © 2012 by John A. Pitts
All rights reserved.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-2469-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 9781429946377 (e-book)
First Edition: June 2012