Prelude to Fire: Parts 1 and 2 (18 page)

“Are you so certain?” the man asked. “Without Issa, we would not have day or night. We would not have the shadows and the light. We would not know the warmth of the sun, and the heat of a kiss, or even the hot breath of life. Much would be lost without Issa.”

Lacertin turned to the man and glanced at the book in his lap, suddenly understanding. “Tell me, priest, did you bring me here to speak of philosophy?”

“Would that bother you?”

Lacertin had never been particularly faithful, not like some within the kingdoms. He noted the Great Mother when he shaped, particularly when he used each of the elements, but rarely did he pay much more attention than that. Incendin’s belief in Issa, and their worship, set them apart from the kingdoms, much like Chenir and their strange worship of the land, or Doma and the way they viewed water, following the Stormfather.

None seemed particularly useful, nothing more than a way to comfort those without the ability to shape. Long ago, Lacertin had decided that the real power in the world came from the elements, regardless of what name they were called. Incendin might call fire Issa, and Doma might call water Stormfather, but they were the same.

“Philosophy helps no one,” he said. “And your suffering here. Who does that help, Lacertin Alaseth?”

Lacertin glanced at the mug, wishing for more water. “You want to know why I’ve come?”

The priest said nothing. His hands stopped moving on top of the Book of Issa. Lacertin had never seen a copy; even in the archives of Ethea, they kept the only copy secured. The book was said to grant power, another superstition Lacertin suspected.

“My king is dead. The kingdoms no longer wanted me to serve.”

“That is your answer?”

“The only one that matters.” He turned to stare into the flames of the hearth. Fire pulled on him in ways that it had not before, as if his time tormented by the Incendin fire shapers had affected his sensitivity. He could feel the way each tendril of flame crawled along the logs and had an urge to press more fire into it.

Lacertin glanced over at the priest, who watched him with a knowing look on his face. How much had he revealed during his torture, and how much had Incendin discovered from their spies since he’d come?

“Do you serve the new king?” the priest asked.

Lacertin sighed. He would have, had he the opportunity, but Althem would not want him, even were Lacertin to want to serve. No, he did not serve Althem, not when the previous king still required so much of him. “I cannot.”

The priest nodded. “Then you will serve Issa.”

L
acertin stood
under the shadow of the Fire Fortress and stared up at the sky, wondering how long it had been since he had seen the sun. The priest stood behind him, trailing after him. Hot wind gusted out of the south, blowing against his skin and ruffling the tattered remains of his clothing. To the east, the pull of water called to him, though he could not see it, not from within the city. For as hot and dry as Incendin could be, the water along the coast called strongly to him. Were there only water shapers of much strength, Lacertin suspected they would be able to pull meaningful moisture from it, but Incendin almost seemed to prefer the heat and the sun.

“How long has it been?” Lacertin asked.

The priest stepped forward. “How long for what, Lacertin Alaseth?”

He hadn’t figured out why the priest made a point of using his full name, nor why he added the extra inflection that implied his familiarity with old Rens, but decided that it didn’t matter, not so long as he was allowed to be free of his cell.

“How long have I been held?”

The priest turned his gaze to the sky and closed his eyes. A look of serene pleasure crossed his face. “You continue to speak as if you’ve been a prisoner here, Lacertin Alaseth.”

“How can you claim that I was not? You held me in a cell, locked away and tortured.”

The priest took a deep breath and turned, letting the sun shine on one cheek and then the other, the smile never leaving his face. “How do you believe that you were held when you have shown that you have access to the Fire Fortress?”

Hadn’t he been held?

When the torment stopped, he had finally taken the opportunity to check, but he
hadn’t
tried leaving the cell before, had he?

“Why did they torture me?”

“What you call torture, Issa would call a test. Fire either hardens or burns. We needed to know which way that you would respond.”

Lacertin rubbed his hands over his arms at the memory of what they’d done to him, the pain and the way it had burned through him, the sensation of his skin practically scalded off his body, the blood within his veins boiling.

“Is this what you do with all your shapers?” He couldn’t imagine a similar test at the university, especially as it came to fire. Already few enough came to the university to learn, many choosing to risk the crossing to Incendin or simply hide their ability. Lacertin had chosen to go to learn, wanting to discover if he could be more than fire.

“Do you not wish to harden your shapers?” the priest asked. “Do you not need to know which of them will be capable?”

“We offer to teach.”

“And if they fail, how long does it take for you to know?”

Lacertin didn’t have the answers. Other than when he had first learned to shape, he hadn’t spent enough time in the university to understand the intricacies of the philosophy behind teaching sensing and shaping.

But some would take years before it was clear that they couldn’t shape, that they’d never be more than sensers. It was time the master shapers spent working with the student, coaxing them, time that often was wasted.

Hadn’t Lacertin himself wished for a faster method of learning?

“This is how you teach?” he asked.

The priest finally pulled his eyes away from the sky. “Tell me, Lacertin Alaseth, can you replicate the shaping used on you?”

Lacertin shivered at the thought. “You wouldn’t want to experience—”

The priest raised his hand. “Do not presume to know what I want to experience.”

Lacertin stared at the man before shaking his head and focusing on fire. The shaping that built from him was one that he’d never attempted—one that he never would have thought of attempting—but he’d experienced it well enough that he thought he understood its crafting. He pulled on fire, drawing on it with more precision than he had managed before his capture, and directed the shaping at the priest.

He simply stared at Lacertin, a growing smile on his face.

Lacertin felt heat radiating off the man, and then smelled the way his flesh started to burn, noting a hint of char curling the ends of his shorn hair.

The man took a deep breath in and then exhaled, releasing the energy of Lacertin’s shaping, pressing it back on him with a powerful gust.

Lacertin staggered back.

“Issa claimed you had potential. I did not know that you would have so much.”

Lacertin licked his lips. They had gone dry again, partly from his shaping and partly from the raw power that the priest had demonstrated. For him to simply extinguish the effect of Lacertin’s shaping… That was power and control unlike anything that he had ever witnessed.

In the war with Incendin, the lisincend were the fiercest fire shapers the kingdoms encountered. A single lisincend had been known to stare down several of the kingdoms’ shapers and could even give a warrior shaper challenges. But they had nothing like what Lacertin saw from this priest.

“How did you do that?”

The man smiled. “You think Issa cannot control fire?”

Lacertin shook his head. “That isn’t Issa. That’s a shaping, and one that I’ve never seen before.”

The priest pushed his glasses up on his nose and clasped his hands together over the Book of Issa. “And have you seen every mystery in this world, Lacertin Alaseth? Do you think that you have all the answers that you need?”

The question reminded him of why he had come. Speaking with the priest made it easy to forget, but he had a reason for coming to Incendin.

“Why would you test me if you knew who I was?” Lacertin asked.

With the question, the priest smiled. “What makes you think we knew?”

Lacertin glanced down, touching his waist where his sword once would have been. “You would have seen my sword.”

“Do you think that our shapers can recognize one sword from another?”

Lacertin thought that they might, but didn’t know. And truly, it didn’t matter.

“There would have been another way,” Lacertin said. He didn’t need to hide the fact that his brother had made the crossing. That, more than anything, would give Incendin reason enough for him to come.

The priest waited, his head tipped to the side, sunlight catching off the glass.

“Does Chasn know that I’m here?”

“Brothers of Rens and separated by fire,” the priest said. “Such a thing displeases Issa.”

“Now you claim to speak for Issa?”

The priest turned his head and focused on Lacertin. “I speak
to
Issa. That is enough.”

Lacertin sighed, wondering if that were true. He could claim to speak to the Great Mother, but that didn’t bring him any closer to understanding what he needed. It had not given him any more insight as to what happened to Ilton, or why. The only thing Lacertin had was a beloved king, now dead, and a life without any focus other than to find what happened.

“Why do you continue to preach to me?” Lacertin asked.

The priest started walking, leading him away from the Fire Fortress. The massive structure towered over everything, somehow avoiding casting a shadow over the city itself. From the street, the streamers of flame leaping from the tallest turrets were only barely visible. None within the kingdoms had ever learned the reason for the shaping. Most thought it simply vanity on the part of Incendin, a desire to show their ongoing prowess with fire. Lacertin had long suspected there had to be another reason.

With the sun high overhead, it was midday or later. Throngs of people filled the street, all dressed in the similar thin fabrics of Incendin. Lacertin had spent some time within Incendin, but usually in the border cities, places nearer the kingdoms and Doma, places richer with water. The people in those cities were faithful to Incendin, but they shared a certain sympathy with the kingdoms, and there were whispers of unrest, a desire for peace. Ilton had long thought to play to that desire, thinking that he might find some way to unite the people, but the lisincend intervened, forcing the formation of the barrier.

Here, near the Fire Fortress, the people were isolated enough that he had no idea how they viewed the kingdoms. As he looked at the faces of men and women and children that he passed, they appeared no different than those near the borders. Other than their clothes, they were often no different than those within Nara.

“I do not think of myself preaching to you, Lacertin Alaseth. Think of it as a discussion.”

He snorted. “A discussion that would be best had with Scholars of the Great Mother.”

The priest pointed to the sky. “You think the scholars cannot have faith? Have they seen the Great Mother?”

“Shapers can feel the effect of the Great Mother.”

“As I can feel the hand of Issa.”

Lacertin shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“Perhaps not to you, at least not yet. Tell me, Lacertin Alaseth, does your Great Mother grant you her protection?”

“Does Issa?”

The priest turned and motioned to the Fire Fortress behind them. “Look at the way our shapers call to Issa. Tell me that you cannot feel the touch on your skin. Tell me that you did not feel Issa’s cleansing while you were within our walls.”

“I thought you said it was a test.”

The priest smiled. “Can they not be the same?”

Lacertin shook his head. “And you released me why? Because I passed?”

“As I have told you, you were never imprisoned.”

“You may not think so, but what would have happened had I tried to leave?”

“That would have been the will of Issa.”

“And now? Why are you with me?”

“Because Issa chose you, Lacertin Alaseth.”

They stopped near a long building with a roof overhanging the building. A sign above the building was written with words Lacertin didn’t recognize. A picture depicting the sun rising over rocks served those unable to read.

A soft bell tinkled as the priest pushed the door open and stepped inside. Lacertin followed, not certain what to expect, but surprised to find a clothing store. A small shopkeeper glanced up as they entered. Seeing the priest, the man bobbed his head and reached for the priest’s hand, taking it and drawing it to his lips in a soft kiss.

“Ishan, I would have your help with our guest,” the priest said.

Ishan looked at Lacertin and nodded. “Of course, my San. Whatever you would ask of me, it will be given.”

San. Lacertin had heard the word before, but had trouble placing it. There was old Rens in the term, but some that he wasn’t as familiar with.

“He is an honored guest, Ishan, and must be dressed accordingly. Is this something you can accomplish?”

Ishan pulled a length of cloth from his pocket and quickly made measurements of Lacertin’s arms, neck, and legs. He pressed his lips together and nodded once. “I think I have something that will work for now, my San, until I can tailor specifically for him.”

The priest nodded.

Ishan hurried to the back of his store, disappearing behind the rows of clothing.

Lacertin stood dumbfounded. All these months he had been tortured. He had expected the torment, had known risking himself coming to Incendin that he would likely suffer, and he had.

And now kindness.

Lacertin had experienced enough negotiations over the years to know there were many ways to convince someone to do what you wanted, but in all his time serving Ilton, he had never known Incendin capable of kindness. Brutality, yes. These were hard lands, and he’d always viewed the people as equally hard, but never friendly. Never kind.

“What is this about?” Lacertin asked.

The priest only smiled. “You cannot serve Issa dressed in this,” he said, fingering the tattered remains of Lacertin’s clothing.

Lacertin dropped his voice. “I can’t serve Issa at all.”

“You are mistaken, Lacertin Alaseth. Is that not why you came to the Sunlands?”

Lacertin tensed. Maybe this was all part of a test, a way for the priest to discover information that he hadn’t shared during his torture. “I came to learn fire,” he said carefully, “not convert to your Incendin religion.”

The priest’s smile widened. “You cannot serve fire without Issa, Lacertin Alaseth. You will see that they are the same.”

Ishan returned with bundle of clothing in his arms and looked from the priest to Lacertin. “I did not know the style, my San.”

“He is a Servant of Issa,” the priest answered.

Ishan nodded and sorted through the bundle of clothing until he found what he was looking for. Satisfied, he brought the bundle to Lacertin and held it out.

Lacertin said nothing. There seemed nothing for him to say as Ishan held out the clothes to him before finally settling on what would work.

Through it all, the priest only stared at Lacertin with his warm expression and eyes that reminded him far too much of Ilton.