Waking Fire, page 16
With the terrace too fragile to support our weight, all I can do is stand in the doorway with the others, straining my ears to hear what’s going on. Beyond the barricades, a horde of Dambi twenty strong are climbing up the stone steps carved into the hillside.
Even though we have almost ten times as many fighters in the Temple, twenty Dambi is a lot. The damage a handful of Dambi can do against trained rangers and watchguards is staggering—and many of our fighters are ordinary men and women who probably picked up a weapon for the first time when they joined the resistance. A full-on assault by this many Dambi will be a slaughter.
That doesn’t stop me from wishing I was down there, in the thick of it.
“Who’s that?” Nez points at a figure in white leading the Dambi.
“Isn’t that one of the Subaans?” Rima squints her eyes at the woman whose arms are raised to show she comes under the guise of peace. “Subaan Ledisi, I think.”
My breath catches. Subaan Ledisi was part of the attack outside of the gate—the same attack that killed Obba.
If one Subaan is still alive, does this mean Obba might be as well?
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Nez whispers to me and I nod.
Determined more than ever to confront the Mistress, I grab the hilts of my daggers and hold tight. If there is even the slightest chance Obba is alive, I will do whatever it takes to save him.
Shouts from below draw my attention. Archers have their bows trained on the Subaan and the Dambi, but a man I recognize as Captain Farouk orders them to hold steady. The Mother joins the fighters on the battlements, her back hunched and her hair white.
“If you are here only to relay a message, then may the Fires burn me in their flames if harm comes to you,” the Mother says. “Tell us why you have come.”
“The Mistress sent me,” Subaan Ledisi shouts. Behind her, the Dambi stand still as statues. But I know how quickly that can change, so I keep my hands on my daggers. “I’ve been her captive,” the Subaan continues, “surrounded by these things—” she motions to the Dambi “—for days on end. I had no choice but to deliver her request for a meeting. Please do not think I serve her—I only want to be free.”
“A meeting?” Captain Farouk calls out. “Where? And with whom?”
“Not here,” the Mother says, her voice carrying on the wind up to the terrace. “I will not have that woman and her abominations defiling the sanctity of the Temple.”
“She wants to meet with our Mother,” Subaan Ledisi replies. “At the meeting house tomorrow morning.”
“What does she want to meet about?” Captain Farouk yells.
“She didn’t say,” Subaan Ledisi replies.
“How do we know we can trust her? How do we know she isn’t trying to lure our Mother into the meeting house so that she can incapacitate her?”
Tears stream down Subaan Ledisi’s face. “She says me being alive should be all the proof you need that she won’t hurt our Mother. Please, I’m afraid if you don’t come, she will kill me.”
“We must discuss this among ourselves,” the Mother calls down. “We will give you our answer in half a hand.”
Slowly, the Mother descends the battlement, one hand on the wooden railings, the other holding on to a Daughter’s arm. As she disappears from view, her voice grows faint and I can’t hear what is being said.
“We have to get back down there,” I tell the others and they agree. One by one, we head back down the stairs, through the library, and into the Temple.
“Should we try going out the front doors again?” Nez asks.
“I don’t see what else we can do if we want to know what’s going on,” I reply.
The doors at the front of the Temple burst open and a crowd enters, their voices loud and upset. I run toward the commotion, the others close on my heels. In front of us, Captain Farouk and a cluster of heavily armed men and women surround the Mother and some Daughters. Feeble and blind in one eye, the Mother leans on the arm of a Daughter for support.
I hide behind a pillar when I’m close enough to hear the conversation over the din of the Temple. Rima joins me while Kal and Nez find a pillar of their own.
“I will meet with her, if that’s what it will take to end this madness,” the Mother is saying, raising her voice to be heard over the noise.
“What about the Hands of God?” someone asks. “If they are indeed as powerful as the scribes say, shouldn’t we wait until they arrive before—”
“We’ve been waiting sixteen years for the Hands of God to show up,” another person cuts in. “How much longer can we wait while the Mistress steals our children and destroys our village?”
“This meeting is a trap,” Captain Farouk says. “She only wants to kill you, hoping that your death will put an end to the resistance.”
Murmurs of agreement come from the others, but the Mother waves them away with her free hand. “Nonsense, Captain Farouk. My death at the hands of that woman would only make this resistance stronger.”
Now cries of disagreement fill the Temple, and once again, the Mother ignores them.
“I am going to meet with the Mistress,” she says, her voice strong as when she leads the prayer to the gods. “Who will be my guard?”
I expect all of the men and women hanging on to the Mother to put their hands up and I’m stunned when they don’t. Most plead for the Mother to rethink her decision, while the others back away in fear of being chosen.
“I’ll be your guard.” I step out from behind the pillar. Rima tugs on my sleeve and Nez motions for me to get back in place, but I ignore them. I glance at Kal and he too leaves his hiding place. Rima and Nez are compelled to do the same.
A hush falls over the adults and the Mother looks out among the people. “Who said that?” she asks. “Come closer to where I can see you.”
With my shoulders back and my chin up, I lead the others to the Mother. The crowd surrounding the holy woman parts, and when the Mother and I are face-to-face, she places her hand on my shoulder.
“You are no more than a child, and yet you have a braver heart than men and women twice your age,” the Mother says. The crowd grumbles. “You’ll make a fine guard—” she pats my shoulder and my chest swells with pride “—but not today. I can’t bring a lamb into the wolf’s lair.”
“I’m not a lamb,” I say. I try not to be angry at the Mother’s quick dismissal of my offer to help, but I can’t stop my fists from clenching. “I fought a Dambi and won. I can take care of myself, and I can protect you.”
“I have no doubt you are a capable fighter.” The Mother’s voice is gentle. “You are the daughter of Samir Isrof Khoum, are you not? And that is his son behind you. I also recognize you, Samida Okuba.” The Mother stares at Kal. “You, I am sorry to say, I do not know.”
“I’m a refugee,” Kal tells her. “My name is Kal Sayeed, and I also want to do whatever I can to help in the fight against the Mistress.”
“Samir Sayeed, another bold warrior,” the Mother says. “You all put my designated protectors to shame.” Scowls and more grumbles follow her words but she talks over them as if they’ve said nothing. “They don’t want me to meet with the Mistress. What do the four of you say?”
I glance at my brother and friends. They all nod, content to let me speak for all of us.
“Until we know why she is rounding up the children of Lagusa, we are at a disadvantage,” I say after some thought. “And until we have the numbers necessary to fight and defeat the Dambi, we have to do whatever it takes to stop the Mistress from achieving her plans, whatever they may be. Her request for a meeting could be a trap, or it could be a way for us to get information that could help us win a battle against the Dambi. I think we have to take the chance. We have to be bold. Our fear only strengthens our enemies.”
“Spoken like a true warrior,” the Mother says with another pat on my shoulder. “The fire of Crafulgar the Fiend-Slayer shines bright in you. But if that fire is to continue to burn, I cannot bring you with me to meet the Mistress. You must understand.”
I understand, though it doesn’t make accepting the Mother’s decision any easier. I said everything I could and still she chooses to leave me behind.
I step back and the Mother turns to the crowd. “I have made my decision. I will meet with the Mistress. I will find out what she wants with our children. I ask again, which brave souls among you will join me?”
Captain Farouk steps forward. “I will protect you with my life, Mother.” He crosses his arms, his fingertips resting on his shoulders, and bows.
Either through shame or because they finally found their courage, many of the others do the same. Satisfied, the Mother holds out her hands and blesses her people.
“By the Fires you live, by the Fires you are blessed, and by the Fires you die,” she says with a voice that begs the gods to listen. “Protect our people with your Fires, and may our enemies perish in your flames.”
“By the Fires,” the worshippers murmur in response. I do as the others, folding my arms across my chest and bowing, repeating the phrases I learned as a young child. The same phrases I repeated with my father the day he died. Obba was a devout man who prayed to the Thirteen every day—but where was Zulgaron and his shield when he needed him? Why didn’t Albedego heal his wounds? Dynago should have showered my father with riches for all of the faith he put in the gods and Nurega should have blessed him with a long and happy life, but that’s not what happened.
How do the faithful keep their faith when the gods let people like my father die while creatures like the Dambi live?
When the prayer is finished, the Mother pulls me aside.
“This world is on fire—and Sothpike is the spark.” The Mother leads me deeper into the Temple. “Fires can cleanse, and they can also destroy. Knowing which type of fire you’re up against requires you to get burned. It will hurt, but you will come out stronger in the end. Are you ready to face the flames?”
I think back to my time in the tomb, how I used fire to keep the Dambi at bay, and how I saved the maugrab. “Fire doesn’t scare me.”
The Mother stops in front of the statue of the dragon Galgamex the Peace-Bearer. She smiles, her teeth brown and crooked like the dragon’s.
“Right now, the world is facing destruction. There are people who run away from the dangerous fires. And then there are people like you, who rush in headfirst to stamp them out. We need more people like you. The fire-eaters.” The old woman places her hand on my shoulder again, and I can’t help but be reminded of Obba. “In ancient times, the fallen dragon Ergenegon breathed blue fire, the hottest and most destructive fire of all the dragons. Only Crafulgar could withstand the heat and defeat him. Sothpike and his forces are our Ergenegon. People like you are our Crafulgar. Only those willing to face the fire despite all its dangers can douse the flames. Let the fire draw you in. It is where you belong.”
The Mother’s hand is heavy on my shoulder and I’m not sure I can carry the weight. The idea that I can take on anything as remotely powerful as Ergenegon is almost too much to fathom. If it’s anything like my nightmare in the tombs, Ergenegon’s blue-hot flames are too much for me to handle. But the challenge to face him anyway, even though I might fall, inspires me to stand tall beneath the pressure.
After all, I’m the type who jumps into the fire, right?
The Mother smiles, pats my shoulder one last time, and goes back outside to give Subaan Ledisi her response, her new protectors following her to the battlements.
I walk over to the statue of the dragon Crafulgar. Her wings are outstretched, her sword raised high, her mouth open to spew fire. Crafulgar is named the Fiend-Slayer for a reason—she looks ready to take on anything that threatens to harm the humans she protects. I wonder what it would be like to have a dragon at my side, or better yet, to be a dragon myself. The power to vanquish my enemies with a blast of fire, to fly into battle with my flaming sword and emerge triumphant.
Is that what draws in the faithful—the power these dragons possess? The hope that one day soon, another dragon will come to save us?
I touch the base of the statue, my hand drawing warmth from the rough stone. The heat surprises me—it’s the first time I’ve ever felt anything in connection to the gods beyond indifference. Could this be a sign that maybe Crafulgar is watching over us? I don’t know, but at least now I know what I have to do.
I leave the statue and join my brother and friends as they make their way back to our alcove. Once we’re alone, I gather the others around me.
“I’m going to the meeting,” I say, my voice hushed. “I don’t care what the Mother says, I didn’t join the resistance to hide. You don’t have to come with me—”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Nez cuts in. “About going to the meeting.”
“Me too,” Kal says.
“Well, if you’re all going, then I am too,” Rima says.
I grin. “So, how are we going to do it?”
We each grab a pillow and sit in a circle to plan how we’re going to get to the meeting house undetected and what we’ll do once we’re there. While we talk, the Mother’s words come back to me.
Only those willing to face the fire despite all its dangers can douse the flames. Let the fire draw you in. It is where you belong.
If sneaking into the meeting house, right into the hands of the woman who is kidnapping children, isn’t facing the fire, I don’t know what is. The Mother told me to be our Crafulgar, and so I will.
Some flames burn everything, even the brave ones who try to put them out. But even though smoke is dark and thick, fire bright and hot, they both call out to me like nothing else.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MORNING ARRIVES WITH A message from Omma.
The runner passes the note to Nez and turns to leave, but Nez calls out to him.
“Wait—how was she? Was she upset?”
“She seemed fine to me,” the runner replies. “When I told her you’re with the resistance, she didn’t seem surprised. She made me stay the night and wouldn’t let me leave until after breakfast.”
Nez’s eyes widen. “Tell me, what did she make for breakfast? Was it good?” With every word, he takes a step closer to the runner until they are nose to nose. “You smell like apricots. Did she make her famous apricot kaavi?”
The runner stumbles back. “I think so.”
“It’s so good,” Nez continues, lost in memories of apricot kaavi, “the way the pudding melts on your tongue and the flaky crust. Did you like it? Don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”
“Well, uh—” the runner stammers.
I snatch the note out of Nez’s hand and shove him aside. “Ignore my brother, please,” I say. The runner gives me a grateful look before scampering away.
“Wait!” Nez cries out. “Give me one more whiff!”
I elbow Nez in the ribs. “Cut it out.”
“I miss Omma,” Nez says, rubbing his side.
“Do you miss Omma,” I tease, “or her cooking?”
“Can’t I miss both?” Nez laughs as he avoids another jab from my elbow.
I sit on the floor and hold the note in my hands, but I hesitate before opening it. The runner said Omma seemed fine, but he doesn’t know her, and she might have been saving her wrath for this letter.
“Are you going to open it?” Kal asks, kneeling next to me.
Knowing I can’t avoid my mother forever, I unfold the slip of paper. There is only one sentence, a short one, and I smile when I read it.
“What does it say?” Nez asks. I pass the note to Nez and he reads the words out loud. “‘Make me proud.’” With a laugh, Nez kisses the note. “Yes, Omma!”
I take a deep breath. I feel stronger knowing I have Omma’s support. Doubts that danced around the back of my mind about confronting the Mistress vanish. I’m confident we’re doing the right thing. We need information, and the only way to get it is inside the meeting house. We don’t have weeks and months to sort through secrets and rumors, and the longer we wait, the more danger we put everyone in the village in.
A bell rings, the deep sound resonating within my chest, and I get on my feet. Scribes exiting the library file past toward the altar on the far side of the Temple.
“It’s time,” I say to the others, and they rise with me. But before we walk very far, Basheera emerges from the group of scribes.
“Why do you have a spear?” she asks, grabbing her younger sister by the arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going with my friends to stand guard when our Mother leaves for the meeting,” Rima replies, shaking off her sister. “I told you last night.”
“And I told you to sleep on it.” Basheera steps in front of Rima. “Which meant, you can’t go.”
“I’m sixteen,” Rima says. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Not if you’re going to make the wrong ones!”
The scribe Mandisa approaches and lays a gentle hand on Basheera’s shoulder.
“Yelling at Rima won’t make her change her mind,” she says. Then she turns to Rima. “Your sister is very worried about you.”
“I know,” Rima says, “but I have to do this. I can’t stay back. You’re doing what you can with your research, but I’m not smart like you. I’m not clever, and I’m not brave. All I can do is stand with my friends. So, I’m going. I wish you wouldn’t be mad at me.”
Basheera looks as if she wants to say something, but all she does is cross her arms and purse her lips. Her glasses slide down her nose and she shoves them back in place.
“Go,” Mandisa says, wrapping an arm around Basheera’s shoulder and planting a tender kiss on her cheek to pull her out of Rima’s path. “I’ll take care of her.”
