The Fire Children (28 page)

Siwa had a small, stoppered cobalt jar at her belt. She tore it free and uncorked it, pouring its contents (
Blood. That’s Anur’s blood
) into her palm. She dipped a finger in it and traced crude sigils on her forehead and throat, then flung what was left into Ember’s eyes.

He hissed and staggered back. A hot metallic smell rose on the air as the blood burned.

In the middle of it all, Vedra stood calmly. The girl had dropped to her knees, panting, forgotten for the moment while her tormentor assessed the situation. Vedra cast her gaze out over the crowd, settling at last on someone in the front.

“She’s looking at us.” Kell’s voice had a squeak to it, but she stood firm.

Vedra said, “Of course. Of
course
you’d be a part of this. But there’s nothing you can do, is there? Only watch.” She held out a hand towards Amara. “Give me those. Help our sisters.”

Amara did as she was told, dragging the smallest of the Fire Children halfway down the ramp as she handed their leashes to Vedra. Then she strode up and around, heading for where Ember had renewed his attack on Siwa.

Yulla didn’t want to know what tricks Amara could do.

Siwa had poured more of Anur’s blood into her hand. She couldn’t control Ember with it, it seemed, but it hurt him when she used it.

Blood is the key.
She pulled the leashes from her pocket, remembering the illustration of the warlock in Abba’s book. The ropes he’d used to command his prisoners had dripped with blood. Only, she didn’t have any of the witch-women’s.
How can I...?

You are more dust than wind. More sand than sea,
Mother Sun had said.

The people here, they’re close enough to be our cousins,
Siwa had said.

She understood now why Ember’s younger sister had insisted she take the leashes.

“Kell, do you have anything sharp?” It was too much to hope her sister had been knitting when the bells rang, calling the people to emerge.
Maybe she can find a rock, then, or someone nearby will have—

A rustle of fabric, then Kell pressed something into her grip. “I... it’s the cheese knife. We were having breakfast when they said it was time.”

Its edge wasn’t much, but she didn’t need to do anything fine or delicate. Yulla withdrew the coiled leashes and felt for Kell’s hand. “Hold these for me. Like you’re giving an offering.”

“Yulla, what
are
they? Are these the same things holding the Fire Children?” Deeper revelation dawned before Yulla could explain. Kell had grown up on the same stories, after all. “Oh, Mother Sun save us, they’re...” She sounded on the verge of retching. “Hurry,” she said. “I don’t... I don’t like this.”

Yulla adjusted her grasp on the cheese knife, laying it flat against her forearm. Its weight was familiar from years of use. While her eyes told her Char was spinning around, trying to catch one of the Nasreens, her mind pictured the short, curved blade with the two funny tines, dimpling her skin where she pressed.

Do it fast,
she thought, and turned those tines—the ones for stabbing a cube of cheese, not a person—so they poked into her.

Then she drew the old, smooth, pewter handle downward, and felt her skin tear.

Kell cried out; Yulla gritted her teeth to keep from doing the same. She let the knife fall and held her bleeding arm out to Kell. “Soak them. Cover them in it.”

For all her horror, her sister did as she was told. Yulla felt the coiled leather leashes pressing against the ragged wound as Kell got them to absorb as much blood as she could. After a moment, she let out a shaky breath. “They’re not going to get much more unless I unwind them. Should I?”

“No. Give them to me.” They were back in her hands before the order had even finished. She leaned forward again, took a half step into the Wind, and waited for its caress. “I need a favor,” she said. “One I don’t think will go against your bonds.”

It riffled her hair. Close enough for confirmation.

“Will you carry these for me?” she said, and tossed them into the air without waiting for a response.

Char was turned her way when it happened, so Yulla saw what everyone else did: the coils unfurling like grotesque ribbons, fluttering on the breeze. They were too heavy to fly that easily, yet on they sailed.

One to Amara.

One to Vedra.

Before either woman could so much as swat them away, the collars fastened themselves around the witch-women’s necks.

Amara clawed at hers, but, maddeningly, Vedra only smirked.

“Let her go,” Yulla called. “Let Mother Sun and the others go.” Her unspoken threat was an empty one, though, and Vedra knew it.

“Or what? You don’t even know how it works.” Vedra cupped one of the little ones’ cheeks. “But I can show you.”

The fighting on the steps had stopped as Nasreen and Siwa, Char and Ember realized what was happening. The four Nasreens became one again; Siwa held the jar at her side, casting nervous glances between Ember and Vedra and Mother Sun.

Char closed her eyes. Or blinked. Or let their shared sight go. Just for a heartbeat.

The reversed eclipse floated in Yulla’s vision: bright disc, dark crown. A silver-throated voice spoke to her. Told her what to do.

It felt like minutes had passed, but when Char’s sight flickered back in, no one had moved.

Yulla closed her fist around the air, imagined a pair of blood-red leashes leading from it to Vedra and Amara. She gave them a yank.

Her newly-inflicted wound throbbed and flared. A trickle of blood traveled down her arm and pooled into her tightly clasped fingers. It disappeared. There was a weight in her hand, the loop of a leash and the tug from the beast on the other end. She saw—no,
sensed
; Char saw only empty air between Yulla and the witches—she
sensed
the bolt of pain travel along those invisible cords. It grew stronger as it went. Yulla almost pitied them.

Almost.

The waves hit them simultaneously. Vedra and Amara both dropped to the ground, writhing and howling, scrabbling at the collars around their throats. Blood trickled from them in rivulets. Yulla wasn’t sure how much of it was her own and how much came from the deep scratches they dug trying to free themselves. It felt good, punishing the witch-women, the satisfaction of a job done well.
But it’s wrong. It’s wrong to make another person suffer.
She had no time to reconcile the feelings, to even ponder whether they
could
be reconciled.

Siwa broke first.

She scuttled away from Ember, around the edge of the hall and down the ramp to the Seaglass. She stepped over Vedra as though her sister were a large dog sprawled out across a threshold, and reached for Mother Sun’s collar. Mother Sun bent, and though it must have been an unfathomable relief to her to have it removed, it seemed she was granting Siwa a boon, letting her touch her divine self.

Siwa freed the others, too—the prone girl, the young ones—and when she was done, she fell to her knees and pressed her nose to the blue surface of the Seaglass, begging for her life.

Nasreen didn’t wait for Mother Sun to straighten up. The pale-haired witch burst into that flock of starlings and took wing. Ember and Char turned as one, their eyes seeking out the dark fleeing shapes. Across the sky, birds burned, their carcasses plummeting to the ground. A handful escaped, but Yulla couldn’t imagine Nasreen being able to put herself back together now.

By the time Char looked back at the remaining witch-women, Amara had rolled up onto her hands and knees, retching. Vedra lay on the Seaglass, flat on her back. Her hands were laced atop her stomach, her lips moving as though in prayer.

I should do it again,
Yulla thought.
So they can’t cast any more spells.
That was how it always went in the stories: you
thought
the villain was vanquished, and then he got up and had another go at the hero. She wasn’t willing to take that risk, but when she tightened her fist again, she hesitated.

Do it,
she willed herself.
DO IT.
But the idea nauseated her.

“Best give those to me, now, don’t you think?” asked a silver voice beside her. The
same
silver voice. She felt the leashes plucked from her hands, and the woman said, “Why don’t you look upon me with your own eyes?”

Cool hands touched Yulla’s face. Gentle fingers fluttered against her eyelids. Char’s vision disappeared, this time for good. The reversed eclipse drifted across the dark again, shrinking to a pinpoint as the grainy, too-big feeling her eyes had had since Vedra had blinded her ebbed away.

“Open them,” said the woman, and Yulla did.

I
N HER DREAMS
, or when Abba told them stories about the gods, she’d pictured a woman like Mother Sun, only all silver; or the pale white-grey of the full moon; a woman with silver eyes to match her silver dress. Sometimes she imagined her with a thin band of metal as a crown, or a scepter carved from ivory. The woman before her looked nothing like that: she was Kell’s height, but thicker at the middle. She had the same olive skin as anyone else here, and thick black hair that fell halfway down her back. She wore simple clothing—a tunic and loose pants, sandals with leather straps. The most ornate thing about her was the braided silver ring she wore on her left hand, and the milky blue stone set within.

Plain as the woman was, as
like them
as she was, Yulla knew she stood in the presence of Sister Moon.

“You’re safe,” the goddess called to the crowd. “It’s over now.” She looked at the bodies lining the edge of the crowd, and her mouth bent with sorrow. “Come get your dead,” she said, softly.

Taking Yulla and Kell by the shoulders, she steered the girls into the
versam
hall, where Mother Sun towered over Vedra, Amara, and Siwa. Ember and Char were with their siblings, checking them over for injury. They’d moved their brother’s body off of the Seaglass and laid him out on one of the benches. The middle girl sat with his head cradled in her lap, stroking his cold cheek. She looked up as Yulla and Kell passed by, and mouthed a silent
thank you.

“Wait,” said Yulla, wincing inwardly at her own audacity. Halting Sister Moon? Demanding something of one of the Fire Children? But she had to know something. “The leashes. How did you know I’d need them?”

“I told you. It was a feeling.” She shifted uncomfortably and gave Sister Moon an appealing glance. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“She’s more like me than her mother sometimes,” the goddess said. “I’ve been teaching her to see.”

They each looked at Yulla as though that should explain everything. In a way, it did. If Sister Moon could send visions and dreams, why
not
be able to pass that knowledge along? “I’m sorry. About your brother.”

The girl nodded, and Yulla was glad when Sister Moon nudged her and Kell along.

“Y
OU SHOULD DIE
for what you’ve done,” Mother Sun said to the witches. Siwa sobbed, spewing out apologies, crabbing forward to tug at the bottom of Mother Sun’s skirt. The goddess stepped backwards, out of her reach. “What would you have done, when my children’s blood ran out? When your magic couldn’t hold me anymore? What then?”

Amara only stared at her with cold, glittering eyes. Vedra had recovered somewhat. She sat atop the Seaglass, still collared, pain drawing her face into a rictus, but her posture was that of a queen. “You’d have broken long before the last was dead. And you’d have brought
him
back to us.”

Mother Sun laughed. “Bring back the Sea? Because you wished it?”

“Because we’d have let whoever else was left go. Their lives for his.”

“You cling so desperately to the memory of Father Sea. Do you forget that I destroyed all of our children after his betrayal?”

“Yours and his. These ones, they’re yours alone.”

Mother Sun
hmmphed
at that, but didn’t answer.

“Kill us, then,” said Amara. “It’s what you do.”

Perhaps she’d expected further discussion. Her eyes widened as Mother Sun shrugged and lifted one golden hand.

It was Sister Moon who stopped her. “There’s a better way.”

Mother Sun peered at her as if she’d said the sky was green. “They killed my son. They tortured my daughter. They kidnapped and bled the rest, all to bind me. What is there for them, besides death?”

“They want to be with him so badly, we give them what they want.” Sister Moon smiled, and Yulla shivered. It was cold, and cruel, and
clever
. Mother Sun bent to let her whisper in her ear, and when she straightened, she wore a smile to match.

“Girl.” Mother Sun pointed at Kell. Kell squeaked. “Bring me water. A bucket, a basin, it doesn’t matter.” Kell bowed and ran off, smart enough not to question the order, and Mother Sun turned her gaze on Yulla. “It would seem I’m in your debt.”

Ember came forward and took Yulla’s bandaged hand in his own as he drew her closer. Yulla was grateful—she thought her legs might give out from shaking. “Mother, this is Yulla. She saved me. She saved all of us.”

“By breaking the decree, it seems. Coming up above while you were walking the city.”