Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I (22 page)

“Thank you,” she mumbled. It was all she could think of. It would make Sarra happy.

He smiled at her and she fled.

*

It was too big just like Simon had warned, but she didn’t care. The blue woollen shirt was warm and she pulled the hood up, pressing it against her ears for a moment. A worn pair of brown trousers had been placed on her bed at some point this morning and she tightened the strings, staring down at herself and marvelling.

/I wish I could see you properly
./

“Me too,” she muttered, turning her head to try and peer down her back as well. She was still afraid of finding the eggs and losing Baltair, but at least it wouldn’t be the end. She wouldn’t have to go back to Tyrun and live there alone.

Her fingers ran down the belt that stretched from her shoulder to her waist, pressing in between the knife and the tiny
bottles of alcohol. Sarra had mentioned them before. They were not for drinking, but for fuelling fire – a weapon. She reached into the pocket of her old dress for the pouch of goldsmoke she had just fetched from the cave. She’d got up early this morning to finish it, based on what she remembered of Sarra’s instructions. She unclipped Simon’s pouch from the belt and placed her own there instead.

If she had a mirror, she was sure she would look like a real Flier, like the ones drawn onto alehouse signs in Tyrun.

/You have been a Flier all your life, Giselle
./

“Giselle! What are you–
”

Sarra appeared in the doorway and stopped.

“That’s…”

“He gave it to me. I said thank you,” she added.

Sarra shook her head with a wry smile. “Well it took you long enough to learn how. But hurry, we’re all ready to leave.”

Giselle picked up the small bag of supplies passed on to her by Cridhal residents and at the last moment grabbed her cloak as well. Her old blanket remained on the bed. She had no need for it now.

She hurried after Sarra but paused in the doorway to the hall where Simon still sat. Baltair’s sadness at having to leave him again washed through her in gentle waves. She took a step back and poked her head through the doorway.

“I’m sorry I never let you speak to Baltair much. I know you’ll be able to anyway after we get back, but even if you couldn’t I’d let you because I’m sorry. I’m taking him away again and I know how horrible it must be,” she babbled.

The time was coming for her to lose Baltair but Simon had already gone through that. The knowledge brought guilt and she sent her sorrow towards Baltair, hoping he would
understand. It wasn’t their fault that he had to leave her. It was just luck that she had got to stay with him this long.

“The dragons will return thanks to you. That is all the apology I will ever need,” Simon replied.

It seemed a bit of an exaggeration – what had she done? –
but
she nodded and ran out. It was drizzling outside and she pulled her hood up. It exposed the golden stripes that named her the alpha dragon’s Flier and she felt a buzz of pride.

The group was waiting for her. Half were Firesouls who had grown up in Cridhal or elsewhere in the mountains, but a few more had come from Tyrun and north–east Auland, guided by Gerard on a previous trip. They stared at her new uniform and she jogged to the front where Sarra waited, for once not caring about the eyes on her.

“Ready?” Sarra asked.

Giselle nodded and set one foot in front of the other. Baltair jumped up to watch as she began to lead their small group towards the mountains. She knew as well as he did what direction to take, at least to start. After about a day, they would have to rely on his memories returning to guide them.

A group of men and women working on the beginnings of a fence that would stretch around Cridhal stopped to watch as they passed. A few cheered, calling out wishes of luck and it dawned on Giselle how much relied on them. What if more raiders or the Dunslades caught up with them and stopped them? What if the eggs had been damaged? What if the sickness overtook everyone before they got there? There was so much that could go wrong and no guarantee the dragons would return at all.

And what if Baltair’s memories didn’t return in time? Only she, Sarra and Gerard knew the danger there. No one else had any idea they might not even be able to find the eggs.

The image of Garth burning flashed into her head and she lengthened her footsteps, starting up the winding path that would take them into the mountains.

CHAPTER
20

T
he pain woke him, then sent him straight back into oblivion.

*

It happened again, but this time it refused to let him slip away. Every inch of his body ached with an intensity Corran had never felt before. He kept his eyes closed, willing it to go away, to leave him in peace – or at least to take over enough that this could just be the end.

Traitor traitor traitor traitor.

It echoed in his head, adding more pain. He was a traitor from every side. Not even Glyn had spoken up for him.

*

The pain in his shoulder lurched to unbearable levels above the rest and he groaned, feverish dreams spinning away into reality. His eyes fluttered open for a second and he glimpsed trees above him, but then the light hurt his head too much so he squeezed them shut. It was cold; he shivered, but that just set off the pain again and he forced himself still. He drifted off once more, pleading with the stars that this time would be the last.

*

He had failed everyone. He could never be a hero after this. Even though he hadn’t done anything wrong, even though he’d been trying to do what his family wanted. Frang meant he was
dead to them. And, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d failed Gerard and the other Firesouls who’d come to trust him. They were going to die because of him and they’d done nothing wrong. Sure they had dragons inside them, but so did he and he
hadn’t
chosen it. That hadn’t mattered to Huw.

The raw hatred Huw had exuded towards him made it hard to maintain his own loathing. Dragons were monsters. He’d
knew
that. He’d heard stories from his father of what they could do, but now he’d heard different stories from Gerard. He’d seen some of Frang’s memories and none of it seemed to match up with what he’d been told. Who could he believe? He’d betrayed one group, only to be betrayed by the other.

He couldn’t fade into exhaustion this time. His brain had started working and wouldn’t switch off. Every event of the past few weeks rolled through his mind and he could not help but analyse and see what he might have done differently. Maybe he should never have gone along with the Firesouls. Maybe he should have killed Giselle when he had his chance. Maybe he should have killed them all straight away. Maybe he should have never left to betray them to his brothers.

The thought that snuck in was so horrible he opened his eyes again, this time getting a better view. The light was gone; it was night, so he didn’t have to hide from the stinging sun. On the contrary, it had got even colder and his body forced him to shiver. It sent pangs all up his limbs, but not as bad this time. He wasn’t dead. His brothers hadn’t come to finish him off. He could see the edge of the cliff high above and had no idea how he had survived the fall. As painful as hitting the trees had been, they must have slowed him enough to save him.

Not that he was sure he wanted saving. It would have been easier to just die. Maybe if he lay here he would die anyway. His
body refused to move, although the pain had lessened. An animal might follow the smell of his blood and find a free meal in the shivering human lying helpless on the forest floor.

So this was it. This was what his life had come to. Hopelessness filled him from toe to forehead, sneaking in beside the pain and making the wait for death that little bit more unbearable. Eighteen years old, almost dead, lying in a forest far from home and he could think of no one in the world who would want to help him.

/Stop it
./

Huh?

So Frang was still there. Maybe he would make sarcastic comments about how he had known this was coming and how funny it was that he’d died at the hands of a soon–to–be–dragonslayer and not a dragon.
Just something else to make this worse.

He could feel Frang sigh within him, warm breath blossoming out from his chest. It took him a few moments to understand that there really was warmth spreading through him. Feeling struggled back into his numb fingers, enough that he could make out the stickiness on one hand that must be his arm’s dried blood. The pain increased.

What… what are you doing?

Even in his own head his words sounded sluggish.

/Helping
./

It took Corran a few moments to process this before he responded with,
Why
?

Another sigh ran through him, although this was more exasperated than the last. It still came with the heat that warmed his whole body, but no reply. He frowned, not used to the sensation, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact it was the
opposite. He closed his eyes, thinking maybe now he could sleep…

/No! Corran, wake up
!/

Why?
He could hear the note of petulance in his head. Couldn’t he just be left alone?

/You’re an idiot
./

Oh great, more insults. I love them.

There was a moment of hesitation before Frang replied, his voice quiet and tentative.
/You sound like me
./

Corran snorted lightly when he realised how true that was. Tears dampened his cheeks and he shoved the dragon away. He didn’t want to laugh.

A twig snapped. Someone was in the woods. Was it Huw, come to finish off the job? Corran couldn’t find it in him to care. He kept his eyes closed and waited for it to end.

“Boy?”

He squinted up to find a man with prickly brown stubble on his chin and thick eyebrows staring down at him. He tried to speak but it came out in a groan.

“Linda, come over here! There’s a boy, he’s hurt!”

More hurried footsteps then there was another face next to the man, this one a little younger and with darker hair. Corran let his eyes close. He didn’t have the energy to talk to these people and explain anything. They’d leave soon.

Something prodded his cut arm and he moaned. That prod had felt like being slashed all over again.

“What d’you suppose happened to him?” the woman said. This time her touch was softer, but it still hurt.

“Drunk, maybe? He’s not talking much,” the man grunted.

“Erik, look at him! He’s hurt all over! Poor thing probably couldn’t talk if he wanted to. Now go get the cart, and hurry!”

Something soft and wet pressed onto Corran’s injured arm and he hissed in pain, trying to pull away despite protests from the rest of his body. She held him in place with a strong grip.

“Stay still, now. I know it hurts but it’ll be better soon.”

He squeezed his eyes as closed as they could be, wishing he had the strength to tell them to go away and leave him be.

He heard the man come back the same time the pain in his arm began to fade, a rattling noise following him. He
was not prepared to be lifted
and as the pain shot through him everything went black.

*

When he woke, the first sensation he felt was the comfort of a soft mattress beneath him. Not the softest and nothing compared to his bed in Dunslade Town – but after weeks of sleeping on the floor, it felt wonderful.

Then he remembered. Nothing could be wonderful again.

He still hurt but it was distant. His head felt muffled, like there was a bubble wrapped around him, stopping him from thinking properly. He would have been at peace if not for the hopelessness that still resided inside him. It tugged his heart and twisted his stomach and travelled in unpleasant tingles all down his body, reminding him of everything that had happened. He was a traitor, to everyone. He was a traitor to that little girl Karen. He had no home, no life. He had nothing.

/Don’t start that again.../