The Firebird's Vengeance (55 page)

“I offer my life in apology.”

“Do you?” it whispered.

The Firebird began to grow. It rose up like a sheet of flame from the stump. It became the size of a hawk, of an eagle, of a swan. The heat from it was more than Mikkel could bear, but he made himself stand his ground. The Firebird spread out its wings to embrace him in flame. “Do you offer your life to me?” it roared.

Mikkel fell to his knees.
Vyshko grant me your strength. Ananda forgive me
. “Yes!”

Flame was all around him. Mikkel screamed but somehow, against all instinct, did not run. He smelled burning, closed his eyes, held his breath, and waited to die.

And then the heat was gone. Mikkel’s eyes opened. The Firebird, once again the size of a wren, sat before him. His hair felt singed. His face hurt. His hands hurt, but he was alive.

“Why?” demanded the Firebird. “Why would you come here? You are the seed of my captor. Why would you ask my forgiveness if you were not afraid of me?”

The urge to run washed over Mikkel even more strongly. The pain was growing, as if his body was only slowly beginning to realize how close the fire had come.

He made himself sit down in the ashes. It was not dignified, but it would keep him from bolting.

“I dreamed once,” he said. “I dreamed I saw a beautiful bird in the garden outside my window, but I couldn’t reach it. I tried and I tried, but I couldn’t reach it, and the bird was crying, in my dream, because its leg was tangled in some twine that had gotten wrapped around the branch it was sitting on.” He sounded mad. This was ridiculous; this would do nothing. But it was all he had. “And I wanted to free the bird, but I could not, because I was in a cage myself, and when I woke, I was blind.” He lifted his head, and dared to look the Firebird in the eye. “She caged me too. I know something of what you suffered, and I am sorry. I am here to do whatever you want, to earn forgiveness. I am the last of the blood that wronged you. Spare my people. Take your revenge on me.”

Tentatively, hesitantly, the Firebird stretched out its neck. “You would do this?”

“I would.”

But before he could speak another word, the Firebird screamed. It was a sound like tearing metal. It launched itself into the air, becoming again the curtain of flame. Mikkel fell backward, crying out in pain and in fear.

“No! Liar! You lied!” It screamed with an anguish that stopped Mikkel’s heart.

And it was gone.

Mikkel was on his feet, looking around for enemy or attacker, but there was none. He was alone on the burnt-out hill, his own burns setting their pain more deeply into his skin and the horrified scream of the Firebird echoing in his soul.

The fox who was his guide began to pick its way up the hill, stopping frequently to shake ashes from its paws.

“What happened!” Mikkel cried.

The fox did not answer immediately. It nosed the stump where the Firebird had perched and sniffed around the charred and blackened roots. Then, it looked into the sky.

“Someone is trying your mother’s trick,” said the fox. “May their gods help them.”

Mikkel thought of the beautiful bird, of the heartache and how close it had come to believing him, how very close, and now it was gone again to someone who wanted to drive it back into captivity.

He bent his head, and then his knees, and the emperor of Isavalta so recently freed from his own bondage began to cry.

Chapter Twenty-two

Mae Shan and the sorcerer Sakra hopped into the surf and each grabbed a gunwale to help beach Uncle Lien’s boat while the woman, whom Sakra had told Mae Shan was named Bridget, took in the sail and lashed it down. When she felt the press and shift of dry sand under her shoes, Mae Shan thought she might cry or faint from relief. She had not believed she would live. She had not believed she would ever see the sun or the shore again.

She had spoken to old soldiers and heard about the things one did after battle. The moments of insanity, elation, or unbearable sorrow that could seize hold of one who had been pressed to their breaking point despite years of training. She had not at that time truly understood the feeling with which they spoke, and had dismissed much of it. Perhaps one day she would be able to return and apologize. If any were left alive.

Mae Shan swallowed and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face and listening to the surge and roar of the ocean at her back.

Your battle is not over yet. Not yet
.

She opened her eyes. Sakra was helping Bridget out of the boat. She had her hems gathered up almost to her knees, revealing a pair of thick black stockings and tattered shoes that had once been fine slippers. She didn’t seem to need the hand the sorcerer held out to her, as she jumped down easily into the water and waded to the beach without hesitation or thought of modesty. Surely she was a fisherwoman, or the daughter of farmers as Mae Shan was. Whatever she was, she was used to hard work and boats, as well as magic.

She was saying something to Sakra, her hand clutching his arm tightly. Her face was white, and Mae Shan thought that if she could hear her there would be a tremor in her voice. She hoped Sakra knew where they were. It was a beautiful place with the great mountain rising green and grey to meet the sky, and the strange sand of the beach glittering around them black as well as gold. She was thankful beyond words for their rescue of her but she still hoped they knew how she might best find a representative of the emperor of Isavalta. As much as her blood burned to undo her uncle’s murderer with her bare hands, she was not such a fool. She needed magic, and she needed other soldiers. She would get down on her knees before the gods of Isavalta and forswear herself if she had to, but she would get what she needed and she would drive Valin Kalami back into the Land of Death and Spirit, and if need be she would follow him there herself to make certain that he stayed this time.

For now that she was in the real world and on solid ground, now that shock and nightmare were over, her anger spilled out of her like blood, and only blood would assuage it.

Sakra approached her. Mae Shan took a deep breath and calling on years of discipline pushed that anger to the back of her mind. She bowed to the sorcerer, her hand clasped around her fist in salute.

“Sir, this one most humbly thanks you and the Lady Bridget for all you have done. This one’s life is in debt and service to you.” She spoke in the most formal dialect she possessed.

The Hastinapuran bowed. “This one salutes the bravery of Mae Shan. Certainly she has borne herself honorably through grave dangers. If a question may be permitted.”

Mae Shan glanced over Sakra’s shoulder and saw Bridget. It was not only the black sand that made her look so white. She watched Mae Shan’s every move with anxious eyes. “Of course. I will help in any way I can,” she said, switching to less formal phrasings.

“Do you know a girl child named Anna?”

Mae Shan felt as if she had been struck. “What is this?” she demanded. “Who are you? What do you know of Tsan Nu … of Anna?”

Sakra held up his hands and pressed them together, a gesture asking for peace and patience. “Forgive me, forgive me, but I doubted for a moment what I had been told and I should not have … will you come with me? There are stories to be told here.”

This I readily believe
. Mae Shan followed him to where Bridget stood. He said something to her in the language they shared, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream or a sob. For a moment Mae Shan thought the woman was going to lunge forward and shake her, but she only swayed on her feet. Then, she said something to Sakra.

“The Lady Bridget asks your forgiveness for her emotion,” Sakra said to Mae Shan, though Mae Shan wondered if the Lady Bridget had said any such thing. “She asks me to tell you she is Anna’s mother.”

Mae Shan stared in open and frank disbelief. The woman met her gaze, but it was clear she was at the end of some harrowing adventure of her own. Mae Shan tried to see any of Anna in her. The coloring was wrong, and the hair, but there was something familiar in the shape of the face. Mae Shan took two steps forward, and now that she looked closely, the eyes, the eyes were the right pale shade. It could be the truth.

“How is this possible?” Mae Shan asked Sakra.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We are in the hands of the gods in this, all of us.”

Mae Shan looked at Tsan Nu’s mother, who looked to be Isavaltan, and at the Hastinapuran who stood beside her and obviously had to restrain himself from taking her hands to comfort her.
But in the hands of whose gods in this tumult when our gods distrust each other as much as our emperors do?

“Tell Lady Bridget I was Anna’s bodyguard for five years as lieutenant of the Heart’s Own Guard in the Heart of the World. Tell her I helped bring Anna out of the Heart when it burned down. Tell her when last I saw Anna she was alive in my uncle’s house. Tell her …” Mae Shan faltered. “There is too much to tell.”

“Will you permit this one to make it possible for Lieutenant Mae Shan to speak in her own words without this one’s fumbling?” asked Sakra with another bow.

The return to high formalities told Mae Shan all she needed to know about what he wanted to do. The thought of yet more magic made her sick inside, but she nodded her aquiescence.

The spell itself involved taking one of the beads from his braided hair, rinsing it clean in seawater, and speaking over it in the manner of sorcerers. He then gave it to her to swallow, a possibility Mae Shan found she had prepared herself for. It was not as difficult as she feared. Sakra then pressed two fingers against her lips and spoke three more words. Mae Shan felt cold for a heartbeat, then hot, and then that too passed.

Sakra stepped away, bowing in thanks or apology, Mae Shan was not sure which. “You will be able to speak freely now,” he said in words and cadences that were alien to Mae Shan’s ears but no longer so to her mind or tongue.

She turned to Bridget, who had knotted the fingers of both hands into her skirt in a search for something to hold on to.

“Tell me,” she said to Mae Shan. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the waves, and it brimmed with fear, with hope, with love and sorrow and forty thousand other things that Mae Shan could barely begin to guess at. “Tell me about my daughter.”

There on the black and gold sands, Mae Shan told her story. They sat out of reach of the waves. There was water and a little food stowed in the boat so they were able to find some refreshment as she spoke. Mae Shan reclaimed her spear and sat with her back to the water so she could face inland. She was a soldier still, whatever else happened. Her training had kept her alive this far, she would follow it even if they were in the middle of nowhere.

She was glad to be able to tell this woman that Anna was a good child, that she was clever, kind, obedient, and happy, that she had been well cared for and had known affection from her teachers and nurses.

She spoke of the burning of the Heart as quickly and as sparingly as she could, to save the mother’s feelings, yes, but also her own. She did not want to dwell on what was not there anymore. She was too worn down by that enormity to be able to fend off a fresh attack from her own memory.

She was, however, glad to speak of Valin Kalami and what he had done. She wanted every moment carved deeply in her mind. She wanted these two to be as furious as she was. She wanted their help without question or delay, and letting them know exactly what Kalami had done to Anna seemed the best way to secure that agreement. It was the only weapon she had for this fight.

When at last Mae Shan finished, Bridget said, “Thank you.” She rose, bread crumbs and sand scattering from her skirt, and walked back to the edge of the waves. She stood staring out at the sea for a long moment, rubbing her arms.

Mae Shan thought Sakra would go to her then, but he did not. Instead, Sakra told Mae Shan Bridget’s story, and it was as fantastic as any fairy tale told at fireside after the children had gone to bed. Although he did not move toward her, he watched Bridget as he spoke. She stood with the waves lapping at her torn shoes. She did not look like any great sorceress, until one saw the stony resolve tightening her features and sparking danger in her eyes that were so much like Anna’s.

Bridget must have been able to hear at least the rise and fall of Sakra’s voice, because as soon as he had finished with their tale, she strode back, head and shoulders erect, her jaw hard.

“We will find him, Mae Shan,” she declared. “For you and for my daughter.”

“Your magics are great,” said Mae Shan. “But do you even know where we are?”

“Yes,” Bridget answered. “I recognize the mountain. This is Tuukos. Kalami has come home.” She glanced at Sakra and obviously saw some question there. “I had Richikha read to me about it after … everything. I wanted to know what had driven Kalami to do what he had done. All I knew he had done at that point.” She looked away, attempting to collect herself. “The good news is Lord Master Peshek is here, in the city of Ahde. I had a letter from him before this all started saying he had arrived. He will help us.”

Sakra nodded. “Ahde is on the coast, if I remember correctly. Do you think you can handle the boat in these waters?”

Bridget looked toward the rolling blue ocean, puffing out her cheeks in calculation. At the same time, Mae Shan glimpsed movement among a pile of rocks a few dozen yards down the beach. Not caring if she appeared too nervous, she shot to her feet. Sakra and Bridget turned to look.

A form stood on a boulder, small and slender, with long hair blowing like a banner in the ocean wind.

“What …” began Bridget.

But even at this distance, Mae Shan recognized the form of the child in her borrowed clothes. “Goddess of Mercy, it’s Anna.”

“Anna!” screamed Bridget, and before anything more could be said or thought, she was on her feet, tearing down the beach with Sakra hard on her heels.

Mae Shan swore and snatched up her spear.
Stop!
she wanted to yell, but it was too late. They were already running full speed into whatever trap had been set, as Kalami had surely known they would.