Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I (16 page)

/I definitely like her
./

“So what’s stupid to you?” he retorted, trying to take comfort in the fact that at least he was holding a conversation with her, even if it was an unpleasant one.

“Not being able to talk to someone that’s been inside your head your whole life. Not being able to come up with a half–decent reply. Saying ‘what’ three times in a row.”

He swore again inside his head.

/My ears! Spare me your foul words, Corran
!/

“Not my fault I can’t talk to him. Gerard says it’s a mental block, because of my father.”

That was Gerard’s latest theory, anyway.

“You can’t talk to ‘him’?”

A smile danced on her lips as she caught him out. He tried to act like she hadn’t.

“Yes? I’ve still been able to hear him sometimes.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

“No I’m not. What’s it matter to you anyway?”

“Well Baltair likes to know who’s around… it helps stir his memories.”

“Stir his memories?”

This time he’d caught her out – he could tell by how she pressed her lips together.

She tried to shrug it off but he was sure he was onto something.

“It’s been a while, the memories are blurred. If you could talk to your dragon you’d know the same.”

And now he had her for sure, because even though the memories he had glimpsed of Frang’s were few, none of them had been blurred at all. Some had been clearer
than his own
.

“Well what does he remember? Maybe it would prompt Fr–my dragon.”

She gazed at him with narrow eyes and he hoped she wouldn’t comment on his slip–up. It seemed this conversation was full of blunders from both of them. What else she might be hiding?

“We remember living in the mountains in summer, the Orvale Mines in winter,” she murmured.

He focused on her words, listening out for anything that might prove useful. He was already learning. He’d had no idea that dragons migrated.

“Fighting off the invaders from Ikjor, getting gold in exchange. It fed our eggs.”

It was disconcerting how she spoke of herself and Baltair as if they were one person.

“Flying over these fields, the ones we’re in right now. It was raining. We were hunting – deer, for the hatchlings. New hatchlings! Weak, though… they haven’t had enough gold.”

Corran listened with rapt attention and was aware of the others around them listening in too, shuffling closer and leaning forward. It wasn’t the information he’d been hoping to get out of her, but he couldn’t stop listening.

Her eyes closed. “Weaker, now… the meat doesn’t help. The miners won’t give us gold.”

Unexpected sorrow filled Corran and it took him several long moments to locate the source. It came from Frang.

Giselle’s eyes snapped open and she stared straight at him. Fire blazed in her expression. “Dragons reduced to flying lizards. And it’s your fault.”

She stood and walked off into the forest, leaving the others to murmur around Corran. He saw Sarra hurry after her but he doubted she would get anything but shouts in return.

He tried to shake himself back to sense, but her last words kept repeating in his head. It wasn’t his fault. He’d only been a toddler. Anyway, he shouldn’t feel guilty. He should feel proud of his father for freeing Auland of the monsters when no one else would.

He should. But as the others whispered, his stomach twisted with shame.

CHAPTER
15

T
he mountains rose high, piercing the deep blue sky. Giselle struggled to contain herself. A mass of dark green covered the rocky slopes and even from so far away she recognised it as the trees she had flown over with Baltair in his memories.

“We made it. We’re home,” she whispered, staring up above them.

/Home
,/
Baltair rumbled in reply, strength filling his voice. A dash of new memories ran through them both
;
playing in the snow as hatchlings, breaking down the pine trees when they were almost grown, the first hunt…

They breathed in the mountain air together and Giselle clung to Baltair. Gerard was pointing out the village up ahead, but it meant they were even closer to the time when Baltair would have to leave. She had no memories of this place; she had to rely on his. Would she still have those memories when he was gone?

The thought of not having his steady voice always with her sent a lump flying to her throat, like she’d swallowed a fish bone and it had got caught.

/Giselle…/

He wanted to comfort her, but there was little he could say. She could feel his own regret, mixed with a longing that he tried
to hide that still burned her. And yet they didn’t even know where the eggs where. Sometimes she wondered if it was necessary – but then she saw Garth, weaker every day and rolled up in blankets in the back of the cart. Everyone knew his dragon was killing him, but no one dared say it. Baltair was terrified every time she had just a coughing fit.

Everyone’s footsteps got faster as they walked towards the village. Henry bounced next to the old horse that plodded along dutifully. Sarra and Gerard both wore wide smiles. This was home for them. Cridhal, it was called. Only a village, so close to the mountains, but it had been the centre of dragon relations for years. They had both grown up here and so had most of the famous Fliers whose stories had travelled as far as the capital sixteen years on.

The village got closer and closer until they could see people wandering about. A few of them stopped and turned to look. The nearer they got, the more Giselle felt like Baltair was expanding in her mind. Something was rising and neither of them understood it, except that this place was important. Something momentous was here.

The eggs?

/No… something else.
Something more
./

Their pace sped up until they were walking faster than any of the others. Giselle heard Sarra call to her, but she couldn’t stop. The villagers were approaching, trying to talk but she ignored all of them as well. There was more here than just strangers.

The moment she stepped parallel with the first building, it clicked.

/Home. Simon
./

“Simon!” she gasped, instantly understanding as the memories flooded her head. She broke out into a run.

Her feet had never trod this path before but she knew exactly the direction to go – to the west of the village, where some of the houses were built into the side of the mountain cliff. Someone stepped in front of her and she pushed past
them
, eyes focused on one house. The door had been repainted, the garden was different… but it was his house.
Simon’s house.
The need to reach him filled every part of her and she burst through the door, swivelling to find him.

A child screamed and a woman shouted, but Giselle’s eyes were solely on the small old man with one arm sitting in a chair. One arm… The memory of failing to protect him filled her with fresh pain but she ran to him, throwing her arms around him.

/Simon! My Flier, I am so sorry! I’m sorry! Simon…/

It was the closest Giselle had ever got to
hearing
Baltair cry and the sound tore through her. She clung to the man tighter, tremors running through her body and rushing to her head. Someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her back but it was the waves of dizziness that made her let go.

“Simon…” she mumbled, fighting through the sudden blackness to see him. She couldn’t lose him again, not so soon! She waded through the darkness but her body betrayed her and her legs buckled, dropping her to the floor. Baltair’s thoughts were all Simon; there was no space for her. Noise was everywhere, pounding footsteps and shouting voices that were far too loud. She struggled, clawing for a hold on something–

/Giselle
!/

Finally he saw and pulled her back, digging in tight and tugging with all his strength to draw her close to him. Simon
faded to just an echo in the back of his mind as he focused on her.

/My girl… my Firesoul.
Stay, please. I’m here
./

The darkness faded. Light filtered
in,
first little rays then more as her eyelids fluttered. Baltair’s presence was still close to overwhelming, but she could feel how he held himself back. Part of him was still absorbed Simon and the memories he and his Flier had shared for three decades that were rushing back, but she could feel the effort he exerted for her.

When her eyes opened fully, Sarra was in front of her, kneeling on the floor of the house. Her lips pinched tight together and Giselle could see the fear in her expression.

“Giselle?” she whispered, reaching out to press a cold palm to her forehead.

“Mhm?”

Sarra let out a little laugh and some of the anxiety faded from her face.

“You need to work on your introductions,” she joked breathily, sitting back. Temporarily sure that she was
okay,
she stood and turned to the bed and the old man still sat there. He watched her where she lay on the floor, but with Sarra right in front of him he turned to her and offered her a brief hug.

“You okay Pa?” she murmured.

He nodded, his eyes back on Giselle. She felt like she might start spinning again with this new revelation, but Baltair kept her grounded. She stood, shaky at first. It felt like she hadn’t eaten anything for days, at the same time as feeling like she was about to throw up any remnants remaining in her stomach. She glanced around to see two children and an old woman watching her from the other side of the room. Sarra gestured her forward and this time she approached Simon at a steadier pace. It hurt
to see how much he had aged. Wrinkles lined his face and his hair was a wispy grey at best. Sunspots littered his leathery skin, but he watched her with an intensity that told her he still had all his wits. The severed arm was an ugly reminder of his last flight.

“Pa, this is–”

“Baltair.”

He stared up at her, a smile wavering on his lips.

“Uh, yes. And Giselle,” Sarra said. “Giselle, this is my father Simon. He was Baltair’s Flier – but I think you already knew that.”

Giselle hovered, unsure what to do. Baltair’s attention was fixed on Simon with just a little remaining to steady her. He urged her forwards, but she remained stock still several feet away. Her thoughts were a jumble. Part of her, the part influenced by Baltair, longed to reach out and check he was really there, speak to him, remember with him… but another part that was staying stubbornly in place was wary. Baltair had tried to leave her – not because he had to, not because he was worried she’d turn ill like Garth, but because he’d seen Simon.
Simon, his Flier for decades before she had been born.
Simon, who’d fought alongside him, talked to the King on his behalf, lived his life side by side. He’d seen Simon and forgot all about her. The fear of losing him gripped her all over again, but this time it was tinged with bitterness.

/Giselle, no
..
./

She didn’t reply, out loud or in her head. She’d felt it and he knew it. She turned to walk away, but Baltair cried out.

/No! Please, let me speak to him! It has been so long.../

The desperation in his voice stilled her and she sighed.
What do you want to say to him? I’ll repeat it, like before.

/Tell him… I missed him. Tell him I’m glad he’s safe
./

“He missed you. He’s glad you’re safe.” Her voice was dull. She made a careful effort to talk about Baltair as someone else rather than the both of them together. She stared at the wall behind Simon’s head as she spoke.

/I’m sorry about his arm, I wish I could have come back but I had to get to the eggs, I had to save them before the soldiers got to them
./

“He’s sorry about your arm. He had other stuff to do so he couldn’t come back.”

/The eggs! Tell him it was the eggs, he’ll understand that
!/