Ice Burns (31 page)

Chandra cringed and stepped outside to escape the painful booming sound of Matta’s angry voice. Once outside, the pressure from Matta's angry gale slid away and she found she was able to breathe again. She had an image of one of Matta's yells taking down the caves and hurried away until she thought she was a good distance from cave-ins, earthquakes, or whatever else an angry Dryad could call.

Chandra walked through the vast green foliage, too shaken to take much pleasure in the light breeze, damp soil and plant smells, or the calm of evening shadows. She needed to walk. The turmoil that rolled inside her like a boiling pot of water looking to vent steam had to cool.

Frostwhite pressed against her consciousness and she reassured him.

I just need to think.

The hawk withdrew and went back to whatever it was he was doing. Chandra tried not to think too long on what that might be.

As she walked, Chandra felt an odd twinge cross her skin for a moment. She focused on the world around her for a moment, but the forest was unchanged. There was no unusual noise or movement to cause alarm or explain the odd feeling. She shook herself and continued walking.

The sound of water from the river they had crossed to get to Edvard crashed across her ears. She didn’t think she had turned at any point in her walk, so she shouldn’t be anywhere near it and it was unlikely that there was another giant river. With the way her thoughts were drawn to the mystery of Edvard and a prophecy and all that, it wasn't impossible that she had gotten turned around.

She walked through a thick lilac bush, pushing the long, slender branches out of her way. On the other side, she saw the vast river and a long line of sandy bank. It looked wrong somehow. Where was the odd boat? Had the bank been so wide when they had arrived?

A hand grasped her arm tightly before lights shot through her head and the world went dark.

27

“She doesn’t look like much, does she?” a gruff voice cut through the edge of Chandra’s consciousness. The man's voice grated on her ears and increased the pain in her head. She felt her face wince and knew her situation was dire.

“Maybe she’ll look better now that she’s woken up, but I doubt it,” another voice called from nearby, and the speaker laughed.

Chandra slowly opened her eyes and hot sparks of agony drove through her eyeballs. She closed them and tried again, taking the torment in hesitant slowness this time. As she began to feel like she could open her eyes the last little bit, a fresh wave of abuse was dealt to the side of her head. She cried out.

"Hit her again," a voice yelled and several men laughed.

“He told us to keep her manageable and off guard,” one of the voices said through the ringing in Chandra’s head. She clenched her fist and tried to breathe through the muddled thoughts skewed by pain.

“No manhandling her until after I speak to her,” a familiar voice called, and Chandra felt her stomach clench. “Hello, Chandra.”

Chandra kept her eyes closed and tried to breathe through the ropes that bound her to the rough bark of an old, dead tree. She wished that by not looking, she could make her childhood bully disappear. The sharp slap to her face quickly broke her of that delusion.

“No time to nap,” Deakon said lightly. His tone suggested happy camaraderie instead of sadistic pleasure. “Did you think that no one would come for you? Did you think you would get away with killing the former Master of the estate?”

Chandra's head was still ringing from the guard’s punch. “Former Master?”

“Of course. The school and estate must have a Master. The position would have fallen to an apprentice, but since you're the one who killed him, it falls to Master Dreys’ next of kin: me.”

Deakon cocked his head to one side as he watched her, reminding her of Frostwhite when he had spotted prey peeking out from behind a rock or tree limb. Chandra’s mind was a blur of hazy thoughts and surprise.

“Kin?” she finally croaked. "You?"

“Master Dreys was my father. He didn’t want me to have any favoritism, so he kept it a secret. He told me I would one day succeed him and become Master, though he didn’t think you would hurry that along. He had assumed that you would become my apprentice and we would continue his work.”

As Chandra focused on Deakon’s face, she saw it change. The indifferent, mocking smile became an angry mask similar to her former Master’s face before she had killed him. Fear and guilt welled bitterly in her throat as she looked upon her former classmate. She knew the change in him was because of her. She dropped her head.

Deakon said nothing. She felt him studying her, probably wondering if this was a display of duplicity instead of true guilt. Chandra was trapped in her thoughts; pain in her body merged with guilt at what she had done and questions about what she could have done differently. He continued to watch her, though she took no further notice of him.

Stiffly, he walked behind her and placed something smooth and round in her bound hands before taking more rope and binding her hands further, tightening the ropes with a jerking motion that made Chandra gasp. Deakon moved to stand in front of her and placed another object around her neck, leaving something dangling over her chest. Chandra recognized the round gem that settled against her tunic. She raised her eyes to Deakon's, a silent question.

“Does it look familiar? It was one of many Master had created for you,” Deakon told her softly. His face no longer showed his anger, but Chandra saw it burning like wildfire in the depths of his watery blue eyes.

Chandra's brain connected what Deakon had said with the familiarity of the gem and her eyes went wide and her breath caught.

“The brush," she whispered.

“Master had it made especially for you with gems created to drain you of power. It had been his plan all along. Master and I were going to use your magic. The boost in power would help make us the most powerful mages the world had ever seen,” Deakon frowned at her. "Together. Master and I would have done it together."

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he started to walk away.

Deakon turned and smiled. It was a smile of contempt. “I’m going to finish what he started. We’ll find a way to drain it, don’t you worry.” Deakon turned and walked away. He disappeared into the tree line at the outer edge of the circular encampment, leaving Chandra tied at its center. She dropped her head and sagged into her bindings.

At the sound of movement nearby, Chandra lifted her head. She looked around at the ragged assembly of men left to guard her in Deakon’ absence. She recognized many of the faces as workers or guardsmen from Master’s estate. Some of them looked as though they had been hired for their rough exterior and willingness to do whatever was asked of them. Anything to fill empty pockets, by the looks of their holey and unkempt appearance.

One thing Chandra did recognize was in their expressions. It was the same thirst for violence that had pushed her into killing Master Dreys. These were no men who thought with their hearts or cared what happened to others. She shuddered before she could stop herself, and it was as if she had thrown a lamb shank in front of a group of starving dogs.

“What’s the matter, miss? Cold?”

Chandra turned her head to look at the man who spoke and fought down bile and a second shudder. She had never known his name, but she recognized this red-faced guard with the broken front tooth and the sickness on his breath. She had once caught him beating on one of the servants at the estate and had wasted no time informing Master Dreys. Chandra knew he had been severely whipped. At the time she had believed it proof of her late Master’s good nature but had learned it was a form of control. Master didn't like guards acting without his permission.

“Too good to respond?” Sharp-tooth asked her. “You forget you don’t have a Master here to protect you.” Several men made angry sounds of agreement, and Chandra quickly realized most of these were men had been fired from the estate or in some way mistreated in her name or for her honor, as Master had called it.

“I’d be happy to show you what a real Master is,” the man hissed suddenly in her ear, causing Chandra’s head to snap up. She gasped in a lungful of air, and her stomach rolled at the taste of the foul air around the man. She coughed and fought to control the fear that shot through her like being submerged in icy water.

Sharp-tooth reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head to the side. “Perhaps we’ll all show you?”

Chandra heard the roar of approval from the men around her. The sound echoed in her head, and her soul begged for the velvet comfort of unconsciousness. Instead, she felt the other side of her head explode as Sharp-tooth’s meaty fist connected with her ear and jaw. Her teeth ripped a gash in her lip, and she cried out before she could help herself.

Her eyes refocused and found Sharp-tooth was no longer the only face grinning madly at her. He had been joined by several men. For a moment, the world was nothing but thunder and lightning strikes of meaty fists or feet. When one of them ripped at her clothing, her blood began to boil. The noise faded as lava spread and traced her veins like the tip of a knife. Within the flame was trapped raw emotion that rippled and erupted. Rage grew into magma inside her greater than anything produced by volcanos or in the core of the world because it was armed with the intent to destroy.

As her blood roiled, she felt suddenly strong and good. Chandra lifted her head and looked into the eyes of Sharp-tooth. The howl that had come out of her throat was more shriek than scream. A moment later, the gems that had been pressed to her wrists dissolved into dust, quickly followed by all other stones pressed into her body. They, along with the ropes that had bound her, fell to the ground as no more than ash.

The man froze where he stood, and they looked at each other for the barest exhalation that lingered an eternity as Chandra came to a conclusion: fire was cleansing. Chandra lifted her head and sneered at her tormentors. Anger wrapped around her like a desert wind. It kissed her skin and whispered promises of freedom. It lifted her with encouragement to let go of the fire; she needed only to release it to be free, and she didn't want to argue with such clear logic.

Fire shimmered in glowing sparks like fireflies in the air above the ragged gathering. The sparks descended, and when they touched the top of a man’s head, they spread and grew like a writhing mass of angry insects, enveloping each body. Flames tore across the men as though they were dry grass. The drought of each man’s honor and mercy fed the flames as it burned away the malice to their very soul. Chandra watched it like a child watching ants about their business. The working sparks fed on rage and darkness. It fanned the flame that wrapped and dissolved them. Some tried to run, but there was nowhere they could go that the flames could not follow.

Once every man was encased, Chandra closed her eyes for a moment. Behind her eyelids, she felt the lightest butterfly touch that raced at the fastest tempo she had ever known. She felt their hearts taking their last fluttering beat. Chandra opened her eyes. She turned her glowing green gaze on the nearest flame, noting the black abysmal mouth wide with terror and the jagged broken tooth. The flames kissed her cheek and Chandra exhaled.

A miasma-scented gust of wind descended upon the camp, and the forms shattered like glass dolls dropped on a stone floor. The flames rose from the ground to scorch the earth and clean the field of the malaise.

28

In the twilight forest, the rustling of movement in the brush was masked by the garbled screams of men. A lone man crouched into the brush, annoyed that his tailored cloak brushed the damp leaf rubbish at the foot of a tree.

The man’s dark eyes glittered in reflection of the firelight that ran wild in the chaos of death. Moving pillars of flame made hideous sounds for a moment before stunning silence when the pillars turned to ash. The slightest metallic tinge on his tongue told him he felt fear, but that was the only indicator of emotion as his mind reasoned out what he was seeing.

Humans. The pillars were humans running in blind terror and pain or standing like statues as they burned from the inside out. The moment the last person fell, a rush of frozen air swept across the clearing. It suffocated any stray flame and caused the man to choke for a moment as his mouth and nose refused to operate.

When the man’s breath returned to him, his eyes found movement toward the center of what had been a living hell. A woman stood slowly, her face and arms bloody and bruised. Her clothing was ripped and revealed more flesh than it covered, and she shivered. Her hands rose to drag through scorched, burned hair as she took a small step forward and almost fell.

For the briefest of moments, the man had the urge to step forward and help her. The idea was shoved away as unwelcome and un-encouraged thought that almost made him laugh. Instead, he stayed as still as a wraith and watched her dumb, graceless movements.

A bird of prey called in the sky above her, probably drawn by the scent of so much death and the woman started. It was as if the call woke her from some sort of dream and brought her into the nightmare, instead. The man could almost see her dilated pupils from his locus among the shrubs. Her head swiveled slowly, and her mouth opened as she looked around and seemed to recall in vivid detail what had occurred. One dirty ash-blackened hand flew to her mouth, and she took flight like a startled doe.