Fortress Of Fire (Book 4) (3 page)

“Only after she shaped you,” his mother reminded. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Her shaping had nothing to do with why I’m still with her. I would have helped her as much as I could regardless. The shaping has done nothing more than—”

“Connect you to her.” She cocked her head. “Yes, I’m aware of that as well.”

A translucent face drifted quickly out of the soft breeze before fading. Tan studied ara, wondering if the wind elemental would ever respond to him the way it did for his mother. Zephra had a connection to the wind he would never really know. And he couldn’t be upset by that. She was a wind shaper, after all, while Tan was… well, a wind shaper also, only without the same degree of ability with it.

Why
wouldn’t
ara respond for him the same as it did for his mother?

“I believe you’ve been keeping secrets from me far longer than I have with you,” he said. “Had Roine not shown up, would you ever have told me about your shaping? Would I have learned who my parents really were?”

She reached for him, but he pulled away. The hurt on her face nearly made him reconsider. “You’ve always known who your parents were, Tannen. Learning we are shapers changes nothing.”

Tan sighed. “Had Roine not come to Nor, there wouldn’t have been a reason for you to tell me about yourself. I would never have learned
why
Father was summoned to serve, why he needed to be the one to go. All that time, I’d wondered. I understand now. And Father will never know.”

His mother closed her eyes. Wind swirled around her head, pulling on her dark hair. “You’ve said it yourself. Had you not gone with Roine, you would never have learned what you were capable of becoming. You have gifts the kingdoms have not seen in hundreds of years. All I want is for you to have the chance to develop them. Learn from the Masters, understand your shaping. Those are the things you should be doing, not risking yourself where others are better suited.”

“I’ve only done what was necessary. And there might not be anyone better suited. Not after what we’ve been through. How many shapers have been lost? Dozens? How many of them can speak to the elementals? How many have bonded one of the draasin?” Tan caught her eyes. “The barrier is down and those who remain are stretched thin. It leaves us vulnerable.”

“Which is why you need to study. You’re untrained—”

“
You
could train me. Teach me what you know of wind shaping. Help me speak to ara.”

She hesitated, looking back at the remains of the university, as if imagining Tan trapped within there. “I… I’m not certain that is the right answer.”

“Didn’t you just say I should learn to shape the wind? That I should learn to master my abilities? In that, you and the First Mother agree.”

She let her breath out slowly. “If you’ll commit to learning from the other Masters, not only from the First Mother, I will do what I can to teach you about the wind when able.”

Tan thought that learning from his mother might actually be good for them. After all the deceit between them, getting to know her—
really
getting to know her as Zephra—was needed. And she needed to know him, to understand who he was becoming. So much had changed between them since they had last spent any meaningful time together.

And he never had a chance to study with her, not as he did with his father. His father had taught him everything he knew about earth sensing. Tan suspected that was why he had such strength and control with earth sensing, though he only wished he’d managed to learn how to shape with the same degree of skill. As it was, shaping earth remained a challenge for him. Golud helped, but would the great elemental help when he was outside a place of convergence?

“Fine. Ferran has also offered to teach. I will go to him for additional instruction. Cianna will help with fire.” Amia might not like it, but Cianna was a Master fire shaper. “And I’m sure I can find someone to teach me water shaping.”

His mother nodded. “It’s settled then. Now, Tannen, Theondar is expecting me before you attempt this.”

The sudden change in topic made him pause. “If the others haven’t changed my mind, neither will you.”

“It will fail, but I will let you learn that lesson on your own,” she answered. Then she patted him on the arm like she had when he was a child and started away, hurrying up the street. Tan stared after her, wondering if anything had really changed.

T
he shadows
in the lower level of the archives surrounded Tan. The air held the musty odor of ancient books and even more ancient artifacts. A thick, plush rug woven in reds and blues stretched out on the floor in front of him. A simple wooden chair was angled across from him. The chair he sat on was made of stout oak and nothing like the other one. Tan had carried it down from the upper levels of the archives, unwilling to risk damaging anything on this level.

Pale white light glowed from shapers lanterns inset on the walls around him, giving enough for him to see. Runes glowed softly on the door he left propped open, just enough for him to leverage his fingers to pull all the way open if needed, but he didn’t really have the need, not with golud worked into the walls and ara blowing through the archives. There was another door beyond that one, and he left it closed for privacy. This level of the archives was only for shapers like him, though there was still the one door he couldn’t reach. Maybe he never would.

He couldn’t admit it to his mother, but Tan still wasn’t entirely certain
what
he was. He could shape like Theondar, the only other living warrior in the kingdoms now that Lacertin was dead, but he could also speak to the elementals and use that connection to weave each of the basic elements together, fusing them to reach for spirit. With the connection to spirit, he had managed to open the door to this level of the archives.

As far as Tan knew, none like him had been here for hundreds of years. The layer of dust hanging on everything attested to that. The heavy, musty odor in the air told the same. He hadn’t known what to expect in this level of the archives and should not have been surprised with what he’d discovered: row upon row of books.

Part of him had hoped to find other items like the artifact, and if he could ever open the remaining door, it was still possible that there would be things like that. The archives were much more extensive here than he’d expected. So far, the books had kept him busy.

Tan turned back to the book resting open in his lap. He scanned the page, the
Ishthin
the ancient scholars had used difficult to translate, even with the gift of understanding Amia had given him before he’d nearly lost her to the archivists. This had been the only book on the shelf where he’d found it. That made him wonder how important the book had been to those scholars.

The first two pages consisted of a large map. The kingdoms were marked in the center, small labels marking the ancient nations of Galen, Ter, and Vatten, before they were bound together under a single throne. Nara looked as if it were still part of Rens when this map had been made. Now Rens had been divided, leaving part of it within the kingdoms and the rest annexed by Incendin. Beyond Incendin lay Doma, the thin stretch of land jutting off into the sea. A series of islands was drawn on the edge of the map, each island larger than the next.

Tan had seen Doma once, though he hadn’t known it was Doma at the time. And what memories he had of the rest of Doma were faded, twisted by his time changed by fire.

The door pushed open and Tan looked up. Amia entered the room. Her golden hair was pinned up behind her ears and she wore a simple gold band around her neck, a replacement for the silver band that she’d once worn as a mark of her people. Roine had given it to her as a gift, a way of thanking her for service to the kingdoms. There was a certain defiance to the pride with which she wore it.

“You’ve been here a long time,” she commented. She held a rune made by Tan, one of the first he’d attempted after learning of their potential from the First Mother. With the rune stamped into what had once been a coin bearing the face of the king, she could access this room. He’d managed to link the coin to the door, a shaping the First Mother had taught him. Amia had the only such coin.

“I’m sorry. I…”

How to explain to her the compulsion to understand what he was that kept him away from her for hours at a time? It was the reason he spent so much time with the First Mother, the same reason he would go with his mother, or Ferran were he to teach. Few shapers knew what it felt like to speak to the elementals, and none of them knew what it was like to stare at the udilm or feel the rumbling of golud in your bones. None had ever imagined riding one of the draasin. Tan had done all of those things.

But then he didn’t have to explain any of that to Amia. With the shaped connection between them, she
felt
it, as surely as he felt the affection she had for him. She leaned over him, eyes taking in the map, and pointed to the page. “That’s not quite right,” she said, motioning toward the edge of the map.

“Why?” He knew little of geography outside of the kingdoms, a failing his mother had admitted to facilitating, but what he did know of Doma was that it jutted off from Incendin as depicted in the map.

“Doma isn’t as large as what you see here. And these islands,” she said, pointing along the edge, “are smaller. Par might be larger, but I’m not sure.”

Tan shifted her finger over to point at the kingdoms. “And the kingdoms were different. Ethea had to be claimed from the sea. That’s why the nymid infuse the rocks nearly as much as golud.” That was part of the mystery he hoped to better understand by searching through these forgotten texts. “The book on the draasin mentioned it. I think it was better known then. But this,” Tan said, pointing to the map. “I don’t think this is a map of the kingdoms as we know it. I think it maps it as those scholars planned it.”

Amia bit her lip as she studied the page. A strand of hair slipped free and Tan reached up to push it back and away from her face, brushing her cheek as he did. She pressed against him and sighed. “What do you hope to find?”

“I don’t know. Explanations. Maybe answers. Why did the ancient scholars even make the artifact?” It was the question that troubled him the most. There seemed no reason for that much power to be used by one person. “That much power is not meant for anyone, not even the elementals. Holding that power, I could have done anything, shaped the world anyway I chose.” He shivered. “I felt as if I could have returned my father. Your family. Everything.” He hadn’t admitted that to Amia before. Admitting that he’d considered and then rejected that much power made him worry how she’d react. He suspected she would have agreed with him, but what if she didn’t? What if Amia would have wanted him to change things?

“What would have happened if you had?”

Tan thought about what could have been. Flashes of it, little more than hints of memories, remained. Nothing he could act on, just enough to make him aware of what he missed. “You would be Daughter, I suppose. In time, you would become Mother. And then, with enough experience, you would become First Mother.”

“And you?”

That had been the hardest, and the first question he’d thought to ask. What would have happened to him?

When he’d stepped into the pool of liquid spirit, he’d known answers to anything. But he’d also held power unlike any that he had ever imagined. With it, he’d saved Amia and the youngest of the draasin, Enya. Tan recognized the power was not for him, just as the power of the artifact was not for him. That didn’t mean it didn’t make him wonder.

And while holding the artifact, he had
known
what would be if only a few things were changed. Were his father not to have died, would he have been driven to face Incendin? Had Amia not lost her family, would she have gone with Tan and rescued the draasin? Had Tan not wanted to save Elle, would he ever had secured the bond with Asboel?

Only the Great Mother knew for certain. And in that moment, Tan had held a piece of her power. No man was meant to experience that much power. Why, then, had the ancient scholars created the artifact?

There must be an answer here. Everything in his being told him there was. Those ancient scholars commanded so much more strength and skill and knowledge that it seemed impossible to him that they had no reason other than a search for power. Even the First Mother thought they sought understanding, not only power.

Tan closed the book. Answers would come in time, but not today.

He looked over to Amia, not certain whether he was prepared for what was next. “Is he ready?”

Amia squeezed his shoulder and stepped away. “Are you certain you should do this? Roine thinks it should be destroyed.”

Tan shook his head. “What would have happened had you destroyed me when I’d changed?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? I did what I thought necessary to save you. To protect you. Can’t the same be said for him?”

Amia gripped the gold band at her neck and stared at him. “You don’t know what it has done.”

“He,” Tan corrected. He stood and replaced the book back on the shelf where it had sat alone. This area of the archives had managed to protect the book against the dampness that threatened to stretch in. Likely some shaping, though Tan couldn’t detect it. “And you’re wrong. He’s done no worse than I did. And perhaps there’s a reason he transformed.”

“You…” Amia trailed off with a shake of her head. “Even when you changed, there was still a part that remained. I don’t know if I could have helped you were there not. I don’t know if the nymid would have helped otherwise. With the lisincend… they went to it willingly. They only wanted power while you wanted to help. That matters, I think. With them, nothing good remains of the shaper.”

Tan knew what it felt like to be consumed by fire. He knew some of what the lisincend had experienced. And if there was anything he could do to help it like Amia had helped him, shouldn’t he try?

A
small crowd
surrounded the lisincend in the broken palace courtyard. The shapers guarding him had brought him out of the archives so whatever Tan attempted could be better contained. Once, the courtyard had featured scenes from each area of the kingdoms, but since the last attack—since Althem had destroyed it—it looked little like it had. In time, they might be able to shape it back into some semblance of what it had been.

The palace itself served a different purpose, as well. Since Althem had passed without leaving an heir, there was need for leadership. All had looked to Theondar—now known as Roine, the last remaining warrior. He had moved the remains of the university into the city and agreed to serve until a replacement could be found.

That was the reason Tan thought saving the lisincend was especially important. They could use what the lisincend knew, discover some way to prevent another Incendin attack, maybe understand
why
the Incendin fire shapers risked death to become lisincend. It had to be about more than power.

But it required first saving the creature.

Chains of stone infused with golud bound the lisincend’s wrists and ankles in the center of the yard, anchoring him to the ground. His massive wings were furled in and held by another loop of chain. His leathery skin radiated with a surge of heat, as if fire struggled to escape from him. Narrow eyes watched as Tan approached.

Tan remembered what that vision had been like, the way everything seemed to burn, the seductive ability to see clearly in the dark. He shook away the thought.

Amia pulled away from him as he approached the lisincend. Tan stared after her but felt her irritation through the bond. After what she’d gone through with her people, first losing her family, then abducted and tortured by the Aeta, and finally to learn how the First Mother had been complicit the entire time, Tan didn’t blame her. He just hoped she could learn forgiveness.

He shifted the sword hanging from his waist, still growing accustomed to wearing it. He no longer doubted he had the right to it; he was almost as much warrior as Roine, only without the same experience. The runes worked along the edge of the sword were similar to those he’d studied in the lower level of the archive. From what the First Mother explained, with those runes, Tan could augment his shapings.

A gust of wind whipped at his hair and he turned to see his mother land next to him. The translucent face of ara worked in her shaping. Ara seemed to dart around him, tugging playfully at the heavy overcoat that had replaced his worn traveling cloak, before disappearing again.

“Mother. You don’t have to be here for this.”

She studied the lisincend, tightness in her eyes betraying her concern. “When we spoke earlier, I hadn’t known that it was today.”

“It was Roine’s deadline.”

She sniffed, eyeing the lisincend. “I am unconvinced this is the right thing to do. Or that you should even attempt it.”

“So is Amia.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Amia. “In that, at least, we agree.”

“I think you agree on more than you realize.”

Roine approached, dressed in more finery than Tan had ever seen the warrior wear. A sword much like the one Tan wore was strapped to his waist. “Let’s get this over with, Tan. The others will hold their shapings in reserve, but if I sense danger to you—”

“All I want is the opportunity to try and save him.”

“Him? You know what you’re talking about, right, Tan? This is one of the creatures that attacked Amia’s family. The lisincend attacked this city. They were the reason Lacertin died!”

“Should they not have the chance for redemption?”

“Redemption? These creatures have been attacking the kingdoms since before you were born. There can be no redemption.”

Tan stared at the lisincend. Locked in chains as he was, he didn’t move. “You would have said the same about Lacertin once.”

Roine frowned and bit back a retort. The emotions conflicting on his face said enough. Without Lacertin, they would not have defeated Althem. Tan wondered what Lacertin would have said, knowing what Tan intended.

Roine’s jaw clenched. “I have not objected to your attempt, Tannen, but only because after everything you’ve done, you deserve the benefit of the doubt. I can’t say I don’t think this is a folly.”

“All I ask is the chance.”

“And if you succeed?” he asked, staring at the lisincend. The heat that would normally roll off the creature was held in check by the kingdoms’ shapers. “Will you trust that you can release him?”