Firewalk (49 page)

Pushing her robe aside, Kayli slid the last few feet to the edge of the firepit As soon as her hand passed the edge and touched the glowing coals, a shock of pure power shot up her arm and into her body, as bracing as a drink of the coldest water at the height of summer heat. Then she rolled over onto the hot bed of coals, and the Flame surged up from the firepit and into her soul.

Kayli dimly heard Randon’s cry of fear, but that no longer mattered. Her weariness washed away like a speck of dust in the river she had swum with Randon, and with it her own fear, her confusion. Flame filled her and buoyed her up more lightly than the water of the pond, sent power racing through her veins.

And yet it was different than the Rite of Renewal. This was no unsure fumbling, no tentative opening to a new lover that quickly became abandonment. This was the welcoming home of an old and well-loved friend, a friend who nevertheless would neither ask nor presume too much. No, the Flame was no longer an outsider to be feared. It was part of Kayli, just as she was a part of the Flame, and in that instant she felt the both of them becoming together a part of something even larger, a great and powerful Order that took in both countries, the world, the universe.

More power flooded into Kayli than she would have ever thought possible, but this time no fear rose with it. She could contain the magic, wield it as a part of her, for indeed that was exactly what it was, as she could feel it a part of the new life growing inside of her (a son, Kayli realized almost irrelevantly; Randon would be pleased to know that). She reached out almost effortlessly for that spark she recognized as Terralt, touched it, and without stopping to wonder how she did so, swept closer to that spark.

There you are,
Terralt thought to her relievedly.
I
thought you’d gone off to the privy or something.
He paused.
What are you doing? It’s like you’re standing here next to me.

For Kayli the feeling was similar. Suddenly she looked through his eyes, gazing down from the wooden tower the troops had constructed, watching as three armies came together in a hot fusion of flesh and blood and metal and hatred.

How fiercely Kairi’s warriors fight,
Kayli thought admiringly
(And once I would have called them “my people.”) Such anger
—
and yet, behind that anger, such love for this hard land they defend. Randon’s soldiers will never fight like that, for Agrond will never demand such love.

What in the world are you talking about?
Terralt demanded.

Nothing. Nothing.
The Sarkondish troops were slowly being forced backward now, Kayli was glad to see, but she was surprised that Terralt did not share her gratitude.
What troubles you?

So, what have we gained if we beat them back?
Terralt thought
They’ll only attack in sneaky voids like before. We need to crush their army completely, and it’s not happening. Even with both countries fighting together, it’s not happening.

Then we will make it happen,
Kayli told him.
And for one moment I will give you a taste of magic.
Instinctively protecting Terralt (How? Did she know? Did it matter?) Kayli poured her power through him and out, striking there where the Sarkondish soldiers clustered the most thickly. Light flared and fire sprang up, great hungry flames, and the Sarkondish warriors scattered with no thought of defense, running heedlessly onto Agrondish swords or into the fire of Agrondish crossbows. Another touch of Kayli’s power and Sarkondish ranks parted to admit a horde of Bregondish riders, firing their bows and howling with joy as they flung themselves into combat

Then thunder crashed across the sky and lightning caressed the ground behind the Sarkondish line, and Kayli pulled back her power, momentarily startled.

Are you doing that?
Terralt thought, as startled as Kayli.

Not I, but I believe my sister has seen the merit in my notion,
Kayli thought. Reluctantly, she drew back from Terralt.
I think I will leave this battle to you and to her, now that matters are well in—

Abrupt cessation, as if the contact between Kayli and Randon—and her contact with the Flame, as well—had been cut off with the chop of a hatchet. Kayli plunged from light into darkness, screaming in shock as she fell.

Cool stone under her body; warm arms holding her very tightly. Gone was her weariness; gone, too, was her ecstatic power, that wonderful sense of
completeness
within a greater order of things. Kayli allowed herself a small sigh of regret before she opened her eyes.

She still lay on the floor of the forge, but now she was far from the firepit It was Randon, of course, who held her, but Kayli was horrified to see that his clothes were mostly charred, and the skin of his arms, legs, and face were reddened and even blistered in places. But his arms held her strongly, and the expression in his eyes warmed her soul as even the Flame could not.

“What happened?” she said softly, touching his blackened tunic. Charred bits of cloth naked away under her fingers.

“For a moment it seemed like—like you were on fire,” Randon admitted. “So I—well, I pulled you out.”

“You pulled—” Kayli bolted upright, glancing over his shoulder at the firepit. A trail where the coals had been pushed aside, as if someone had been dragged, led from the very center of the firepit.
“You went in after me?”

Randon’s eyes widened slightly at her words, and he glanced back at the firepit, too, then down at his clothing. He grinned then, but the grin trembled slightly.

“I suppose I did,” he said unsteadily. “I never actually thought about it, I just saw you burning and—”

Kayli laughed, embracing him carefully so as not to hurt him.

“I congratulate you, my husband,” she said. “For you have just made your first firewalk, and with great success, I would say, considering that you had neither training nor preparation.”

“My first? My last, you mean,” Randon said firmly, glancing at the firepit again and shivering. “If there’s no more swimming for you, by the Bright Ones, there’ll be no more firepits for me, understand?”

“Indeed.” Kayli stood and helped him gently to his feet, picking up her own robe. ”At least I did not require the services of a healer after my swim.

“The battle was still proceeding when you pulled me from it, but I believe the Sarkondish warriors will be thoroughly routed,” she told him as she pulled her robe on over her sooty skin. “And I do not doubt that for many years to come, when Sarkondish warriors talk over their ale of the war with Agrond and Bregond, there will be fear in their voices.”

Randon nodded, taking Kayli’s hand.

“We’ll never forget, either,” he said. “And after us, our child—”

“Our son,” she said, smiling at Randon.

Randon raised an eyebrow doubtfully, but smiled back.

“All right, then. Our
son
will take up that vigil. But in the meantime—”

“In the meantime?” Kayli asked as Randon opened the forge door.

“In the meantime my advisers are waiting,” he said ruefully. “There’ll be a tax increase to pay for the war, titles and land grants to be given to the heroes, pacifying speeches to be made about the alliance, trade schedules to be drawn up with Bregondish merchants, perhaps the building of a proper road or two between the two countries, policies to be made about travel across the borders, and let’s not forget the slaves and—”

Holding Randon’s hand, Kayli sighed, smiled, and walked out of the forge.

And into the fire.

About the Author

Anne Logston was born February 15, 1962 in Indianapolis, Indiana and grew up there and in the country in southern Indiana. She started to write fiction as soon as she could put intelligible words on paper. She quickly learned to type so she could put intelligible and LEGIBLE words on paper. Anne graduated from the University of Indianapolis in 1984 with an Associate’s degree in computer sciences, for which she had no talent, and a Bachelor of Arts degree in English literature, for which she had no practical use.

After college, Anne spent six years masquerading by day as a bad-tempered but sane legal secretary, then coming home at night to assume her secret identity as a bad-tempered and mildly demented writer. After significant bootsole-to-buttocks encouragement from her best friend, Mary Bischoff, she reluctantly sent off her first manuscript and was blessed with a remarkably short search for a publisher. Her first novel, Shadow, saw print in 1991, and two years later she abandoned my “normal” life and descended completely into fantasy.

Anne has a remarkably patient husband, Paul, who supplies the sanity in their marriage. Together they are owned by three cats, two dogs, and one snake. In her infrequent leisure time, she likes to grow and/or cook strange and spicy things, and is an avid collector of anything about vampires.