The Book of Fire (63 page)

She’s been bored and hot all day, and her premonition has faded.

Only its unusual size has promised to make Phoenix Town interesting. Until two things occur: she sees the man with the sword, and someone starts shooting at her. Her premonition has returned.

I shouldn’t have come! I should never have insisted! The God warned me! I should have known better!

Ducking away under Luco’s strong arm, Paia forces down her panic in order to concentrate on moving with him as he skillfully dodges and weaves, and not think about the outrage of being shot at. The God has told her that he outlawed the few firearms that were left after the Wars. But now she sees them everywhere in this shoving, panicked, ravening mob. Either the God lied, or the God is not as omniscient as he would like her to think.

And where is he when I really need him!

It’s hard, with the crack of gunfire and all the shouting and screaming, to concentrate on her summons. When the first shot spattered marble dust into her eyes, she called out to the God instinctively. Then Luco’s defensive maneuver distracted her. Quick, reliable Luco. How could she have ever thought this ex-soldier had gone soft?

He has her tight about the waist, as if he fears losing her to the heave of the mob. She has the odd impression there are strangers racing beside them, in step with their every turn, as if clearing them a path. Where are her chaperones? Where are Luco’s strong young men? Suddenly, the wall of a building looms up in front of them.

“This way, my priestess!” Luco ducks sideways along the stones, then into an alley that opens up as if it was exactly where he expected it to be. It is narrow, and choked with terrified villagers fleeing the chaos in the square. Luco jostles through them, hugging the left-hand wall, until one of the many closed doors that they pass is miraculously open. Luco hauls her inside, into darkness. The others she thought to be their companions are swept by with the mob.
Luco kicks the door shut. Sunk in total blackness, she hears him lock it.

Paia can tell she’s in a very small room. Her throat and lungs constrict. “What if they find us in here? We’ll be trapped! Wouldn’t we be safer if we kept moving?”

“We will. First you need a chance to catch your breath.”

A soft flare eases her panic as Luco lights an oil lamp set on a little table in the middle of a low, square room. Shamed by the priest’s calm, Paia tries to still the heaving of her chest. She is not only breathless, she is terrified. But she doesn’t want Luco to have to slap sense into her, as he has a few times in the past. She wants to appear strong and capable, for once. She has survived assassination attempts before. Of course, then she’d had the familiar security of the Citadel to comfort her.

The room she’s in now tells Paia almost nothing about its usual occupants. Could they really own nothing but the few dishes and chairs, and the two iron cots lined up along one wall? She watches Luco as he moves briskly about the tiny space. She envies his confidence in such a dire circumstance.

He opens a few cupboards, finds cups and a stoneware jug. He fills the cups with water from the jug, and hands one to her. “Drink up, my priestess. I’m not sure when we’ll have another chance.”

Water? How convenient. She eyes him over the rim of the cup. Does she sense the God’s presence somewhere about? She thinks not, and yet, there’s just the faintest echo. “Luco, tell me the truth now. This isn’t another one of your schemes with the God . . .?”

He laughs, but with an edge to it. “No, my priestess. I assure you it is not.”

“Well, we should thank these villagers whose home we’ve invaded.”

“Easy enough.” He opens another cupboard, searches through the scant piles of clothing there, pulls out his choices and tosses them on the table. “You can leave them your expensive and conspicuous clothing. Put those on.”

She gapes at him. Is this the man for whom every Temple garment is a treasure? “Really? Just leave it here? What will my poor chambermaid say?”

Luco’s mouth quirks. “She’ll survive. If I’m to extract
you safely from this tinderbox of a town, you’ll have to go incognito.”

He’s found garments for himself as well. Without even turning his back, he strips out of his golden Temple vest and belted white pants, and slips into darker, looser pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He folds the ceremonial glitter precisely and puts it away in the cupboard. “Come, now. We should hurry.”

Paia does turn her back. Having many times considered trying to seduce her head priest, now she is shy in front of him. The shirt and pants he has given her are patched here and there, and soft with age, but clean and comfortable. And they conceal her body as completely as her beloved sweats. Paia rather likes them. She steals a look to see if he’s watching her change, but only catches him glancing at his empty wrist, a nervous gesture that she recognizes. Her father had it. It’s the habit of a man once used to wearing a watch. She has never noticed it in Luco before.

“Ready, my priestess?”

She nods. He gathers up her Temple finery from the floor where she’s let it drop, and folds it, regarding her with bemused patience. He stows it away in the cupboard with his own. But instead of the main door, he opens the one narrow closet in the room and holds out his hand. Puzzled, Paia takes it. Luco leans back to blow out the lamp. The void surrounds them once more, but his voice is soft at her ear.

“We must be silent, my priestess. We move between walls and through spaces thought not to exist. We mustn’t call attention to our passage.”

Finally Paia understands that this room isn’t just a happy accident. “How did you know about all this?”

“Has the God not charged me with your safe return, on pain of my life? I’m a careful man, my priestess. I like to plan for any eventuality. Hush, now. Not a sound until I say so.”

He leads her through a long and complex darkness. Sometimes the walls are close on either side, sometimes an outstretched hand finds only one. Almost always, the ceiling is right above her head. There are twists and turns too numerous to count, and only occasionally a bit of dim light strays through from the rooms on the other side of the
walls. When it does, she hears screams and gunfire. She wonders if the God has heard her summons, or if he’s punishing her by ignoring her. She can’t shake the sensation that he’s nearby somewhere. But even if he is, she can’t imagine him manifesting inside these tiny passages.

At last she hears the creak of another door. Luco leads her into another small, dim room, only this one has a curtained window. He goes to it immediately and peers out between the drapes. The screams and shouting are louder here, close to the street, but Paia is sure she hears the rattle of wagon wheels. She joins him at the window, but he does not move aside to let her see out.

“Are those our wagons? Have they come for us?”

“Not our wagons. But they’ll do.” He turns away from the window and looks down on her, an oddly contemplative expression abstracting his gaze. He surprises her by smoothing a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. A very paternalistic gesture for Son Luco. “Now listen carefully. We are in very grave danger. You must do exactly as I tell you. No questions, no tantrums. You must trust me absolutely. No matter how it may seem, you are safe in my hands.”

“Oh, Luco, you needn’t frighten me to make me behave. I’m there already. I’ll do as you say.”

He pats her cheek. “Good girl.” He glances through the curtains once more, then grasps her hand firmly and opens the door.

Erde guided the dragon in from his hiding place in the woods just as the shadow of vast wings swept over the square, blotting out the last whisper of dusk. She felt N’Doch’s strength beside her, steadying her as if she were a spooked carriage horse. She wanted to tell him about Fire, how she knew and what she saw, but there wasn’t time. Fire’s passage roiled the hot air, making the torches leap and flare. His shriek shattered the din of the fistfights and shouting and sent even the looters scurrying for their lives. As the great shadow passed, the priests of the Temple
looked up from aiding their wounded fellows and fell down on the paving stones in terror and awe.

DRAGON, ARE YOU THERE? I CANNOT SEE YOU.

Earth had never wanted nor been able to hide himself from her before.

I AM. DO NOT ASK WHERE, FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY
.

The Tinker wagons moved faster toward the intersection as the terror-stricken mob stampeded into the side streets and alleys, trampling the slower and weaker in their desperation to flee. Luther and Brenda struggled to keep the frightened mules from bolting out of control. Beside Erde, N’Doch was singing. It was a wordless, soaring sort of song, unlike any she’d ever heard him sing. Erde felt the power in it, like the surge of oceans.

The shadow passed again, like the shiver of a dream, with a metallic rattle of wings and another rending cry. The air smelled like ash and molten iron. Erde felt him up there, searching, his inhuman eyes raking the darkened ground. She made her mind go as still as she knew how.

He knows me, just as the hell-priest knows me!

At the mouth of the square, Scroon Crew’s wagons blocked the intersection. The mob broke against them like a wave and surged away to either side, scrambling for the lesser exits, or pounding on the doors of the houses along the square, begging for shelter. Others just dropped to the ground where they were and prayed. The wail of fearful believers rose to drown out the shouting. Somehow, somewhere, there was still gunfire. Thumping on the caravan’s sides drew Erde’s glance to Baron Köthen. His face was alight with grim satisfaction as he wielded his quarterstaff against a pair of men trying to climb up on the wagon. He was glad to be in action at last. They were almost to the intersection.

DRAGON! THE TINKERS ARE LEAVING! WHAT SHOULD I DO?

GO WITH THEM AND BE SAFE. YOU’VE DONE YOUR PART. NOW WE MUST DO OURS
.

And don’t speak to us! You can’t hide yourselves as we can. He’ll go after you, and distract us from our task.

As Lady Water’s voice faded in Erde’s head, the shrieking dragon above swooped down out of the night and settled with a sound of clashing swords in the center of the square. Erde recoiled into the shadow of the caravan’s roof.
She was sure he would pick her out of the crowd. But she could not keep from easing forward just a bit to stare.

In the jittery light of the torches, Lord Fire’s scales glimmered like the fabled treasure hoard of gold and fabulous jewels. He was winged, horned, shred-eared, and clawed. His barbed tail coiled around his muscled haunches like a snake ready to strike. His eyes flamed like blown embers, bright heat in darkness. He curved his plated back, arched his long, sensuous neck, and let a curl of smoke rise from his cavernous nostrils. The very essence of Dragon. He was awesome, magnificent.

And horrific. This was Baron Köthen’s understanding of dragon. This was what he’d met in the hell-priest’s eyes.

Lord Fire himself.

Erde did not know how this could be, but now she was sure of it.

The wagons slowed and halted as the Tinkers, even the mules, stared at him, astonished. With a deep resounding crescendo, N’Doch completed his song. For a moment, the world was becalmed, as if life itself had paused on its journey to pay homage to this lordly creature, the king of ancient myth, preening himself in the village square.

“I never thought . . .” murmured Erde.

“That he’d be so beautiful?” N’Doch finished for her. “Me neither. He knows it, too. Look at him strut!”

Then the stillness ended. Lord Fire lifted his elegant head and roared. Great booming echoes beat around the building facades and against Erde’s eardrums. The priests of the town and a few who had come in with the procession scrambled into a huddle and prostrated themselves before him. The dragon seemed to be waiting. The curve of his neck tightened into an impatient arc. The barb on his tail, as tall as a man, lashed back and forth.

One of the priests, stuttering and stumbling, dragged himself onto his knees and struggled to string together enough words to explain what had just happened before Lord Fire’s arrival. “The Great God,” he called the dragon, but could get no farther. Another, facedown, tried to help him, then suddenly all of them, men and women, were up on their knees babbling hysterically, begging the “Great God’s” forgiveness. Packs of abject worshipers, huddled
around the square, added their own chorus of wails and moans.

Fire snaked his head around to stare at the shivering priests. With an angry flare of his enameled wings, he reared up and roared again. Three of the priests collapsed in a faint. The rest threw themselves flat on the bloodstained stones, mumbling incoherently.

Erde sensed a momentous gathering of dragon energies. A decision. The time for confrontation had come.

I CAN TELL YOU WHAT HAS OCCURRED HERE, BROTHER
.

Fire dropped to all fours, poised for battle like a cat. N’Doch and Erde shuddered as a new voice invaded their heads: deep, raw, and furious.