Ember and Ash Page 5

  “Who says?” Cloud snapped.

  “I say,” a woman near him said firmly. She was old—very old, with hair completely white and face so wrinkled Poppy could hardly see her eyes. “He showed Himself? To blondies?” she asked. There were nasty looks cast at her for using that word.

  “Yes,” Poppy answered. “I saw Him. He roared up out of the wedding fire and burned Osfrid into ash.”

  A shiver went through the old woman and she groped for support from the girl standing next to her. A granddaughter, maybe, who was looking troubled.

  “You’d better explain yourself, Pansy,” Cloud said to the woman.

  “There is Fire,” Pansy replied firmly. “I’ve… seen Him. Others here have, too. He’s only ever shown Himself to women of the old blood before this…” She fell quiet for a moment, and then said softly, “The world is changing.”

  “Why won’t the fire light?” Cloud demanded.

  “He has taken all fires except the marriage fire Ember jumped over,” Poppy explained. “To force Ember to go to Him, at the Fire Mountain. She must take fire from there and bring it back, and then we will be able to relight all our fires from that one.”

  Cloud stared at her while the people around them shifted and muttered to one another. “You expect me to believe that?”

  Larch spoke up. “Can you get your fire lit?” she asked. The horses stood at her shoulder, waiting patiently. Once again, murmurs rippled through the crowd. “He has stolen all our warmth,” Larch said.

  “And Lord Arvid has sent me as messenger, to tell you that he has sent Ember to the Fire Mountain.”

  That caused a huge stir.

  “She’s only a chit of a girl!” Cloud protested.

  Poppy knew what he meant. Ember was a lovely person, merry and pretty and good to be around, but she wasn’t the most serious person in the world, or the most practical. Perhaps that was why Fire wanted her. Poppy felt a flick of envy. It must be terrible to have your husband murdered in front of you, but to know that Fire wanted you, only you… at least you would feel special.

  “Lord Arvid has sent a trusted group of guards with her,” she reassured Cloud. “In the meantime, he suggests that all women with young babies go to the fort, as that is the only place where food can be cooked.”

  The people around her frowned with puzzlement, and then began to look worried or horrified or appalled as the implications began to sink in.

  “How will we survive?” one man asked.

  “Ember will be back before autumn,” Poppy said firmly. Arvid had given clear instructions about this. “In the meantime, the people of the Last Domain are renowned for courage and resourcefulness, and your lord is confident that you will find ways to thrive, even without fire.”

  “We can dry meat and fish in the sun,” a woman suggested.

  “Aye,” Cloud said. “And that compost heap of yours, Bellflower, it gets pretty warm. Might be we could cook in that.”

  They broke into groups, animatedly discussing what needed to be done next. Poppy was full of admiration. But one woman stood to the side, with a face so full of despair that Poppy had to go over and talk to her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m a potter,” the woman said. “How can I fire my pots? How can I earn a living if I can’t fire my pots?” Her voice rose into hysteria and some other women hurried over, took her by the shoulders and arms, tutting and tching.

  “Now, now, Columbine, don’t take on so,” Bellflower said. “No one will starve, will they, girl?”

  Her tone was sharp, and conversations stopped to hear her answer. Poppy hastened to reassure everyone.

  “Lord Arvid has grain and other stores put aside for emergencies,” she said, word for word as Arvid had said to her. “He will give freely to anyone whose livelihood has been disrupted, and will ask no return.”

  “He’ll beggar himself,” Cloud observed.

  Poppy bristled a little at his tone of slight contempt.

  “My Lord Arvid would rather be a beggar than see one of his people starve,” she snapped. She paused as a few people in the crowd nodded sagely. “My Lady Martine says to remind you that fish can be cured in vinegar instead of smoking. She is hoping that Salmonton will be a source of food for the rest of the domain. So you see, your trade will not suffer at all—it may even increase!”

  “Where are we going to get that much vinegar?” a man demanded querulously.

  “Doesn’t have to be vinegar,” someone else replied. “Lemon will do it. Or we can just pickle the fillets in brine. You need less salt that way than laying it down in barrels.”

  “Brandy’ll cure it, too,” another woman offered.

  “Expensive shagging fish if you cure it in brandy!” Cloud said.

  “What about beer?” a man asked.

  It was time to go, Poppy thought. They had another town to reach before nightfall, and she really did not want to be out in the dark near the Great Forest. But Cloud stopped her as she turned to take her reins from Larch.

  “We have some food, fresh cooked this morning,” he said gruffly. “Take a bite before you go on.”

  Poppy smiled at him, satisfaction blooming in her. She must have done her job properly, for him to offer that.

  “Thank you,” she said. “We will.”

  The Last Domain

  An hour before sunset, Holly called a halt by a stream in spring pelt, in a clearing under tall white spruces. The forest floor was covered with a mixture of lichen and moss, luxuriating in the spray flying from the stream as it flipped and bounced over the rocks in its path.

  Ember breathed in deeply as she dismounted and handed her reins to Tern.

  This was the smell of spring, she thought. Water, moss, spruce gum. It was the first time since Osfrid died that she had gotten the stench of burning out of her nostrils. She stood for a moment, just watching the stream churn and splash, letting the familiar spring sound of fast-running water fill her with hope.

  “What are you doing?” Ash asked.

  She blinked her eyes open.

  “I—”

  “Horses get watered before anything else,” he said reprovingly.

  “I know that. I gave Merry to Tern,” she protested.

  Ash looked at her impassively. She knew that look. He’d turned it on her often enough in the past. It was the “you’re acting like a warlord’s daughter” look. Cedar came to join him, resting his elbow on Ash’s shoulder and smiling sardonically at her.

  “Gave her horse to the servant, did she?” he asked.

  “No servants here, brer,” Ash answered in the same tone. “We’re Valuers in the Last Domain! We believe everyone is worth the same!”

  Ember flushed. She didn’t care what Cedar said or thought—he was just a mayfly, biting whatever he could. But Ash’s opinion mattered, for some reason she could never pin down. It wasn’t as though he were important. He was just family.

  “My father has a groom!” she countered. She was aware of Holly and the others listening and flicked a look across to them. Holly and Curlew were smiling faintly. Tern looked shocked that Ash would question her, and that made her feel worse. The other soldiers pretended to ignore the interchange, but she was aware of their sidelong glances.

  Ash took a step closer and bent down to her. He was near enough that she could see the deep green flecks in his brown eyes, and feel his breath on her cheek. She felt warmth creep up her face; it was ridiculous, stupid, but she had never been aware of him before as a man. He smelled male. Her breath quickened and she felt cross with herself.

  “Your father,” he said, “works his arse off for the people of this domain, and he has better things to do than curry down a horse. What about you, princess?”

  It was an old nickname, from childhood, from a day when she’d tried to order him around and he’d wrestled her down into the mud. Princess was the name given to the Wind Cities’ kings’ daughters, poor things, who were married off in much the same way
as warlords’ daughters in the Domains, but who were also a byword for jewelry, silks and pride. She had hated that name in childhood and she hated it still.

  “I am not a princess!” she said. She jerked herself around and went to where Tern was grooming Merry, her face flushed. Ash always made her feel so young, even though he was only a year older. It was something about the way he stood, solidly anchored like a great tree. As though his roots stretched down to the center of the world. They should have called him Oak, she thought, dandy-brushing Merry from nose to tail as she had been taught, flicking the dust off competently and quickly, falling into the rhythm that Merry liked best. He spoke as if she’d never curried a horse before! Hah.

  Ash brought his own bay, Thatch, over to stand by Merry and they worked side by side. Wordlessly he handed her the hoof pick when she was ready for it and she took it silently, glancing up to meet his eyes. He was half-smiling, and she smiled back, just a little, a warmth in her belly making her again aware of him as a man rather than a cousin. It was a shame he wasn’t handsome. He had such nice eyes, but few girls would look past that rugged face. She wondered if she should try to find him a suitable girl to marry, and then realized she was thinking like a warlord’s daughter. Or a warlord’s wife, which she might never be, now. She flushed and turned away from him, sliding around to Merry’s offside and brushing vigorously.

  By the time she had finished Merry’s mane she was thankful to hand the gear back to Tern, who took it with a shamefaced air, as if he should have stopped her doing the work. She smiled at him reassuringly.

  “We’re in this together,” she said softly, not wanting Cedar to hear and make fun of her again. “Sharing equally, as Valuers should.”

  He ducked his head once and slipped away to repack the gear, but his shoulders were straighter as he went. She wondered again why her father had sent such a youngling on this trip. Tern couldn’t be more than sixteen, and he wasn’t the best of his age group at fighting. He was a good tracker, though, and came from the far north of the domain, where the trees petered out into the flatland, where even in summer you couldn’t dig more than a foot deep without hitting hard ice-earth. That might be useful later. Who knew where they would end up?

  At least the work had warmed her up a little. As the sun set, the chill struck up from the ground and she shivered as she sat on a mossy log and took the evening rations from Holly. The log was cold under her thighs so she was glad when Ash sent Holdfast and Grip to sit beside her, their warmth on her legs a bulwark against the evening breeze.

  There was fallen wood everywhere, residue of the heavy snowfall two winters ago, which had brought many trees and branches down. Ember stared at one tangled heap of dead spruce boughs longingly. At any other time they would have made that the base for their campfire. She imagined the flames licking higher, spreading their warmth, and then shuddered. Fire and death would be linked forever in her memories.

  “Ember,” Ash said quietly. “Can you see that?”

  She followed his gaze back to the pile of spruce boughs. They were lit from underneath with an orange glow. Flickering, yellow and gold.

  Ember jumped to her feet and pushed Ash backward as he got up too.

  “Get away, get away!” she cried. “It won’t hurt me! Get behind me!”

  All the others jumped and ran to the edge of the clearing before turning back, but Ash stayed at her back, feet planted. The dogs stared at the fire with interest. Holdfast lay down with a sigh as though glad of the warmth.

  “I think it’s all right,” Ash said.

  The fire had grown, but slowly, as a fire should, gradually taking twig after twig, branch after branch, until it had built into a normal campfire, burning merrily, hissing a little as it met damp moss, sparking as spruce gum caught and burned blue for a moment, releasing its fragrance.

  He moved forward cautiously, but she put out a hand.

  “Let me,” she said, and he stopped.

  Ember picked up a dry branch from behind the log and advanced slowly. The fire continued to burn gently. She leaned to place the branch on the fire, and the branch settled and caught as branches should, with no more than a little creak and sigh as the flames took it.

  Straightening, she was aware of her heart beating hard, her breath coming short, and the burn on her wrist was like a brand, not quite hurting, but hot, hot as a lover’s mouth. She was caught, watching the flames flicker and leap; caught by the color and the warmth and the sense of Him, there somewhere, waiting. Watching.

  Ash came up beside her with another branch and crouched to lay it on the fire. But as he reached out the flames bent backward, away from the branch, like frightened children cowering from a bully. Ash stilled, hand outstretched. Holdfast was on her feet, now, growling low in her throat, her teeth bared to the fire. Grip had backed away a little, whining, but he was still holding himself ready to leap.

  “No,” Ember heard herself say. “Not you. He wants me to tend it.”

  She took the branch from Ash’s hand, feeling his dry, human skin as she did, and put it on the fire. The flames reached back immediately, hungrily kissing the branch she had given them.

  “Apparently,” she said, and knew that her voice was high and thready with something very like fear, “apparently there are servants in the Last Domain, and I am one of them.”

  Holly spoke gruffly.

  “Service to a greater good is no shame, my lady.”

  Tern had crept closer to the fire, his eyes wide.

  “There are colors there I’ve never seen before,” he whispered, and he was right. The orange and red and gold of the flames was deeper than any fire she had seen; the spruce gum blue was bluer; the haze above the flames danced with green and silver and amethyst.

  Cedar regarded her thoughtfully.

  “He can’t come just like that, I shouldn’t think,” he said. “Did you call Him?”

  Her hands were shaking, and she stuffed them into her pockets. There were ripples of fear running through her, and something else that was not fear, but was more dangerous. Some sense of excitement, of arousal. She would kill that now, once and forever. He would have no part of her heart or her body, no matter how many fires He sent her. Fire was her enemy, a killer, a bully, despoiler and blackmailer, and she would never worship Him.

  “I thought it was getting cold, and it was a shame we couldn’t have a fire,” she said, and the years of life at the warlord’s fort came to her aid now, when she had to put on a show for the people she was responsible for. It kept her voice light and calm, and let her put a tinge of humor into her tone. “I won’t do that again.”

  Ash was looking at her strangely.

  “So He came when you called Him,” he said. “And He has given you a gift.” She was surprised by how harsh his voice sounded. “He is wooing you.”

  A shudder went through her, uncontrollable, and she turned away from the fire to Ash’s solid strength, feeling sick and cold. He gathered her in and patted her back.

  “He won’t hurt you,” he said. “He wants you to serve Him.”

  Never. Never.

  There, inside her, was the core of ice, like the ice-earth of the flatlands. She was the warlord’s daughter, and she would not barter her people’s safety for the heat in her blood and the promise of ecstasy. She knew that was what He was offering, and she rejected it. Holdfast came to stand by her side and Ember buried her fingers in the fur of her neck. The living, breathing dog reminded her of where she belonged.

  “Never,” she said aloud. She half-expected the fire to die away on her words, but it continued to blaze happily.

  “Well,” Ash said, considering, “we might as well make use of this gift.”

  He sat down and toasted his bread on a long forked stick, and then spread it with thinly cut cheese so that the cheese softened and melted. Ember watched him, marveling at his courage. He had seen Osfrid taken, and still he sat on his log as if by his own hearth.

  He looked up at her and grinned,
handing her a piece of cheese toast. “Have something warm,” he said. “It’ll do you good.”

  She sat next to him and nibbled at the toast, then ate it quickly as saliva flooded her mouth and she realized how hungry she was. Tern, greatly daring, had set a pot of water to heat in the fringes of the fire. Cha, that was what she needed. Nice hot cha, and be damned to where it came from. She would take his fire and use it to care for her people, but she would give nothing but dry branches and kindling in return.

  She could feel heat inside her, in her belly, lower, running through her blood. She was aware of Ash as she had never been; the warmth she had felt earlier was nothing in comparison. Fire, she thought angrily. He’s trying to lure me in with desire, and He’s using Ash to do it. Bastard. She turned her back on the flames and watched the clear night sky instead, although her palms sweated and she was aware of every breath Ash took as if he used her own lungs.

  For the rest of the night the fire behaved as a fire usually did. Ember banked it with stones and left it to burn low as they pulled out their sleeping pockets and settled down. Holly, Tern and Curlew shared the guard.

  “I can guard,” Ember said. “You don’t have to do it all.”

  “Tonight, we do,” Holly said. “Tomorrow another three can take it. You’ll get your turn. It’s better to have three, then each can get enough sleep. More and you’re changing over too often. Everyone wakes, no one is rested the next day.”

  Her long experience quelled any disagreements. Ash simply nodded. Cedar and the others had already slid themselves into sleeping pockets. Martine had issued them all winter pockets, fur lined, because they were heading to the mountains, where the snow lay all year round. Ember was sure it would be too hot on this spring night, but as the fire died away she was glad of the warmth. She had not felt truly warm since the fires had gone out, except when she had laid branches on the campfire. The scar around her wrist ached with a shadow of burning, and she laid that hand outside the pocket, to cool it, and put her head on that arm as a pillow.

  In the morning, when she opened her eyes, there was a small bright rounded shape in the center of her palm. Its clear curve reflected the trees around her, the sky, the long streaks of rose cloud above, the whole world inverted and shrunk to fit her hand. She thought for a moment that someone had placed a scrying jewel in her hand. Then, as she breathed in with surprise, the shape wobbled a little, the reflection wavering, and she realized it was a tiny pool of dew. She had lain so still it had gathered there overnight.