Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I (19 page)

It was what Cridhal’s council led by Simon planned to restart as soon as the dragons had been reborn. They would be protected here and kept secret for as long as possible. Once they were big enough to have a Flier it would be much harder for
anyone to harm them and with dragons that only took a few months.

She mixed her days between walking with Sarra and sitting in meetings while the trip into the mountains was planned. He had more of an idea now where the eggs were, but Giselle didn’t know how to express his worried uncertainty to Sarra. He had tried to get her to tell Simon but she had resisted so much he had given up. She felt guilty about avoiding the man when Baltair was so desperate to see him, but every time she saw him the fear that Baltair would leave her rose up and batted her away. She had to see him in meetings, anyway. She didn’t want to spend all her time around the old man who knew her dragon better than she did.

/Giselle, that’s not–/

“I know, I know.”

A gasp caught her attention and she turned. A head of blonde hair disappeared from her window but whispers tugged her forward. She stuck her head out and looked down to see five children and an almost–teenager kneeling beneath her window,
all staring
up at her with wide eyes.

The teenage boy jumped up first, smoothing down his shirt with an anxious expression.

“Sorry Miss Giselle. We didn’t mean to disturb you. We know you don’t like talking, we’ll go now.”

He grabbed the blonde girl’s hand and motioned at the rest, already backing away.

“Why are you next to my window?” she asked.

The boy halted. He was gangly, taller than her but with a face that told her he could not be older than thirteen. His hair was the exact same shade as the girl who must be his sister.

“We wanted to hear you talk to Baltair,” she whispered.

“Erik said he heard you, so we wanted to too!” another girl said.

“We want to be Fliers, when we’re older,” the boy explained, stepping back up to the window and holding out his hand. “I’m Tomlin. It’s an honour.”

Giselle stared at his hand as the others chorused out their names, too fast for her to hear them all. Some of the adults in Cridhal acted like this too, although most of them hid it better. She didn’t mind it so much from children though. She wouldn’t feel like she was being judged the whole time from talking to kids. It had been the same in the temple back in Tyrun; only the priests and priestesses had told her off for talking to herself. The other initiates thought it strange, but not heretical.

“Do you have any tips?” Tomlin asked. He looked like he was fighting to contain himself. “On… you know. How to be a Flier.”

“Don’t you know more than me? You grew up here,” Giselle said. That was what she couldn’t understand about the people here. They all knew dragons far better than she did. She’d only ever known one dragon and he’d had no memories until recently – but of course they didn’t know that. Even so, she was not a northerner and Baltair would be returning to Simon. These children had more chance of being Fliers than her once there were more dragons. She would never feel right being a Flier to anyone but Baltair, even if she was allowed.

/I don’t–/

“Knowing dragon lore doesn’t make you a Flier!” Tomlin exclaimed
,
drowning out whatever Baltair had tried to say. “There’s so much more than that and we’ve never even seen a dragon. I know you haven’t technically either but it’s different, because…
Baltair!
”

She wondered for a moment how everyone in Cridhal would treat her once Baltair was in his own body.

“I’m… not sure what you want to know,” she muttered. Six pairs of eyes stared back and she flicked through what Sarra had told her. Surely they knew all this? “You know you have to be close to a dragon to be a Flier? You have to trust each other or it won’t work, you’ll fall off.”

“Is it hard, talking to a dragon? Is it hard to understand them?” the smallest boy asked, stretching
himself
out across the wall next to her.

“No of course not, it’s the same as talking to anyone else.”

“See this is why we need you! We don’t know any of this, no one our age does,
we
need to get ahead if we want to be Fliers!” Tomlin said. “What about–”

He cut off, eyes no longer focused on her. Giselle turned away from the window to find Sarra in her doorway, sending her a curious look.

“Are you ready?”

When Giselle glanced back at the children they were already running off. She nodded, following Sarra out of the room and into the tunnels.

*

The cave had only the barest equipment left in it to allow Giselle to make goldsmoke, out of the very gold that she had smuggled to Sarra all those weeks ago. It was an intricate process that every Flier had to memorise. The gold–ridden glass was cooling and she held a hammer ready in her hands to smash it apart soon.

Her throat constricted and she managed two stumbling steps backwards before the coughing fit attacked. It tore through her and she wrapped her arms around herself, gulping
to try and avoid the tangy taste of blood. Finally, they faded. Sarra watched her with concern but Giselle stepped back up to the golden glass. This she could cope with. She’d been ill before. Back in Tyrun it had been a struggle to survive, but it had been a day–by–day life. The fears of a someday when Baltair would leave was much more terrifying.

A teenage boy came skidding into the cave without warning, halting just in time to avoid meeting the wall head–on. He swivelled on one foot and came around to face Sarra, taking a moment to catch his breath before speaking.

“Gerard says to come quick –
it’s
Garth, he’s really ill. He… he looks like Bethan did, before…”

His face twisted with an unpleasant memory but Sarra was already moving, covering the half–made sheet of goldsmoke with a thick, rough cover and pulling off her gloves. Startled, Giselle followed suit. She hoped she was wrong about what the boy meant and sent a quick prayer up to the stars. She didn’t know any of the other Firesouls well, but Garth had always been kind.

They hurried through the village, Sarra waving away those who tried to greet her. She was well known here, although Giselle had noticed she never seemed quite so harassed when she walked alone. The people peered at her like they were dissecting an insect and she could only ignore them and pretend they weren’t looking at her. She was still not used to the attention; she had spent too many years being looked straight through.

Garth had been sent to the local wisewoman’s house as soon as they’d arrived and not left once. Giselle had hoped that some decent rest might do him some good but she had avoided visiting him to find out. He had been well on his way to sickness
when she had joined the other Firesouls and even though he had been kind, it wasn’t like she
knew
him. What would she say if she visited?

Her mental image of him looking pale and being pulled along in the cart was dashed to pieces as she followed Sarra, stepping inside the house and through a doorway. She wasn’t sure why she’d followed – she didn’t have to. Sarra was acting as
her
shadow, not the other way round. But now she wished she hadn’t so she’d never have to face the picture in front of her now. He had wasted away. His cheeks were hollow and his cheekbones poked out, seeming to stretch his skin. He was tucked deep under blankets, but he shivered and his face had gone from pale to a yellow hue.

Gerard knelt next to his bed and the wisewoman stood solemnly by the door next to Simon. Sarra walked forward to take her place by Gerard, but Giselle hovered in the door, trying to avoid eye contact with Simon who was staring at her. She didn’t want to be here – there was no reason why she should be – but she couldn’t just walk away from this. Garth was dying. Garth, a man she’d barely spoken to, but a Firesoul like her who’d tried to offer her extra food when he needed it. He was dying because he was a Firesoul. She had accepted from the start what Sarra had said about it being necessary to get Baltair out, and the illness in her recently had made it serious. Seeing this made it far more real.

His breathing was rasping and shallow. His eyelids fluttered, but he wasn’t awake. Half–words passed his lips but she could make out nothing. Somehow, despite the shivering, sweat ran down his face. It was more sweat than she had ever seen on a person before and as she watched it increased. His sheets, damp
before, became soaked as he tossed and turned, becoming more agitated.

“Garth… be still,” Gerard murmured, reaching out with one hand – but then he pulled it back at a touch from Sarra. She tugged at his arm and they both shuffled away from Garth.

Giselle looked between the pair and then everyone else in the room. Why were they doing nothing? Why were they just watching him? Couldn’t they at least make him more comfortable
–

Flames lit up the inside of the room and she screamed in fright and horror, jumping away. Garth was gone – in his place was a pool of diminishing flames that danced over the bed. Water splashed down on it, smothering them. The wisewoman had thrown it. Had they known this was going to happen?

An acrid stench floated through the room. The smoke began to disperse, revealing the remnants of Garth – tatters of flesh left clinging onto blackened bones. The sheet was incinerated all around the corpse, but another was ready and waiting. The wisewoman lifted it and placed it gently over what was left of Garth.

/Another dragon lost
,/
Baltair moaned.

Sarra had spun around when she screamed and now she stepped forward, ushering her out of the room.

“What are you doing here? You… you weren’t meant to see that,” she added with a sigh, glancing back at the door and pulling it shut. It didn’t block out the smell though, or erase the new memories.

“That’s what happens if Baltair stays in me?” she murmured.

Sarra’s face twisted in regret, but she nodded. “It’s fast at the end.”

“It’s horrible! He… he just went up in flames!”

Gerard slipped through the doorway too and came to stand next to Sarra.

“We can’t wait any longer. This can’t happen to more people,” he said.

Sarra nodded in agreement. They spoke as if Giselle wasn’t there.

“Tomorrow, then. Will you tell your group? I’ll spread the word to the other Firesouls.”

Gerard nodded and walked out of the house without another word. Giselle stared up at Sarra, unsure what to say.

“We’ll start up the mountains tomorrow. Do you think you know where to go?”

“West,” Giselle replied. Despite the increased silence between herself and Baltair, their understanding had not faded. She had as good an idea of where to go as he did.

“Go to my father’s house later and ask for a map. He’ll point out what he knows of the dangerous areas – places that will have changed since Baltair flew. Try and draw out where we need to go. I’ll meet you there this evening, okay?”

Giselle nodded, her heart sinking, but Sarra was out of the door. Giselle was left alone with the wisewoman and Simon in the house where Garth had burnt into oblivion.

*

She’d stayed in the house with Simon for as long as she could bear, but her stomach still twisted as she walked away from the village. He had been patient in trying to help her read the map but she had never read anything in her life, words or maps or numbers. The squiggly lines meant nothing to her. The only way she would know for sure which way to go was to look for
herself
. The steep hill she trekked up would give her the best view over the trees of the route they would begin tomorrow.

Garth’s death still played on the edge of her mind, but she tried not to think about it. Just like she was trying not to think about everything right now, but it was impossible. Her mind buzzed like a hive. If one more item was added her head might burst.

/Just focus on one thing at a time.
Now, it’s finding the route for tomorrow
./

She nodded to herself, grateful for Baltair’s calming voice. She had to make the most of it while he was still there.

/You’ll still be able to speak to me after
./

“But it won’t be the same.”

He didn’t argue with that. When they were alone she slipped back into her old habit of talking aloud, even though she knew she didn’t have to anymore.

She reached the top of the hill and for a moment forgot all her worries at the sight before her. It was the clearest view of the mountains she had got yet; before
they had always been shrouded by the tall pine trees that sprouted everywhere
. The peaks rose high, the tallest of them disappearing into the clouds. She could see the path they would be taking soon, winding up the mountainside, but only to a certain height; the summits were unreachable. On her other side, open plains mixed with deep forest and fast–flowing rivers.

“It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t see much more of the path than she had been before, but she was glad she’d come up here anyway. She wished she had some memory of living here. What would her life have been like if her parents hadn’t been killed? Her guard never would have taken her to Tyrun. She’d have grown up knowing she was a Firesoul. Maybe Baltair would have got his memories back sooner and dragons would have returned to the world after only a few years.