When Comes the Fire Read online

  Then the nightmares began.

  At first, it was rather neutral; a seemingly harmless dream, collecting her scattered memories of family and friends and neighbors from the surrounding village. The baker down the street, the artisan next door, even though the color in the dream was all washed out like a faded cloth. Then it shifted, and she was in the entryway of her old house, watching as a shadowy figure swung its sword. Then suddenly she was staring at the fallen form of her mother, blood spilling from the yawning mouth that had been carved into her neck. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out as the walls began crumbling around her, flames pouring from her skin to burn the corpse of her mother. She turned to run, but there was her brother, pinned under the rubble, his glassy eyes staring up at her accusingly.

  "Why did you do this, Namida?" he asked, but his lips didn't move to form the words, cracked and ashen as they were. "They said it was Kaska's troops that killed us, but you were the one that caused the fire. It was your fear that killed me. I didn't have to die that day if it hadn't been for you!"

  Namida screamed; a wordless shriek as she clenched her eyes and balled her fists over her ears to block out her dead brother's words, but that didn't stop them from echoing in her skull. If it hadn't been for you... She opened her eyes, realizing she was crying, the sensation of her left hand over her ear having vanished, and that she was now in a dark room. Her room. She was awake.

  And her sheets were on fire.

  Namida screamed again, for real this time, as she dove out of her bed, scrambling to the far corner of the room where Nyago had woken up at the sound of her scream. He whined, pressing his cold nose to her cheek and pawing at her urgently, as if trying to tell her something. She couldn't focus on him though, the terror of the flames filling her so full she couldn't comprehend anything else. The door slammed open, and Darwe came rushing in, looking terrified when he found the bed aflame and her not in it. He whipped his head around, sagging with relief when he saw her curled in the corner, staring wide-eyed at the flames, unable to move. He ran to her, all but launching himself at her as he scooped her into his chest.

  "It's okay. You're okay. Just focus on your breathing. The flames can't hurt you," he murmured into her ear. Unable to see the fire anymore with him blocking her line of sight, she sank into him, clinging to him as though he were her lifeline. "Shhh. It's okay. I'm here. You're okay." She believed him. Darwe would never lie to her. He was too nice for that. He was too nice for his own good. Her uneven breathing slowed to match the rhythm of his hand stroking her hair, and when he finally pulled back, she hesitated before opening her eyes, having unconsciously shut them at the feeling of being protected that had wrapped around her with Darwe's arms.

  The bed sheets were destroyed, little more than burnt tatters remaining, but the flames that had been eagerly devouring it were nowhere to be seen. Namida's eyes widened as she turned her questioning gaze to Darwe, stunned. He grimaced.

  "I've...seen you like this before," he said. Her face screwed up in confusion.

  "After a nightmare? Yeah, I know," she said with a sarcastic smile. "I get them a lot."

  "No, no." He shook his head. "With the...fire," he said lamely. "It's not the first time something like this has happened...it's just the first time you've noticed it."

  A myriad of emotions poured through her at that, but the main one, she realized, was a growing sense of fear that trickled through her, like a layer of cold slime slowly covering all of the others until it was the only thing she noticed at all.

  "What do you mean?" She didn't want to know, really, but the words tumbled out anyway. "I can't stand fire. I would rather get dressed in the dark than light a lamp. I don't even keep them in the room."

  Darwe's expression was grim. "It's not a lamp or anything like that that causes it.

  "It's you."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Namida and Darwe sat on one of the sofas in the foyer, their backs to the flickering hearth as they accepted steaming mugs of mint leaf tea from Master Dorozi, the only other inhabitant of their wing of the complex. He had come wandering in only moments after Darwe's revelation to Namida, interrupting her dumbfounded silence. She hadn't spoken a word since Master Dorozi had walked in, and the swordmaster had taken one look at the two of them huddled together on the floor and told them they were all going to the foyer to have tea and talk.

  Master Dorozi sighed and took a seat across from Namida and Darwe as the two young teens both clutched their respective mugs wordlessly, the silence stretching on with nothing to fill it but the unnerving crackling of the hearth. Namida fought the urge to cringe every time the fire popped and snapped, a sharp reminder in the forefront of her mind of the happenings of just a few minutes prior.

  "I take it you've discovered the power you have," Master Dorozi said. Namida inhaled sharply, her gaze snapping up to meet the older man's. His eyes were clear and knowing. She should have known that he would find out her secrets before she even knew she had them. Nothing got past him. She knew it was no sense pretending she didn't know what he was talking about, either. The swordmaster would have none of that. Namida stared down at the steam curling up from her tea, the mug hot enough to be scalding, but somehow the heat didn't seem to phase her. She realized absently that no heat had seemed to phase her since she had almost died trapped in the fire three years ago, even when her brain nagged her that she shouldn't touch things that could potentially burn her, like when she'd grabbed a hot tea kettle a few months back without realizing the steam spout was open. At least now she knew why she seemed to have an immunity to such things, she thought, her bitter smile reflected back at her in the surface of her tea.

  "A rather lousy way to discover it, don't you think? Waking up only to find the thing that destroyed your whole life looks like it's come back to finish the job?" And her brother's words, still echoing. If it hadn't been for you...

  Master Dorozi gave a long exhale, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his tea cooling on the shelf beside him. His eyes flickered with uncertainty; a trait she thought was very unlike him. "I had hoped we could wait a while longer before telling you about it. I thought maybe you would slowly start to overcome your aversion to fire, and then we could try and ease you into the knowledge of your magick." He shook his head. "It doesn't seem like you've become any more comfortable with it, though, than the day you came here."

  Namida wanted to throw her mug; to break something, anything. She settled for sneering at the Master. "Comfortable? You think I would ever be comfortable with the thing that killed my brother? The thing that almost killed me? Pah!" She scoffed. "I've thought you were a lot of things, Master Dorozi, but a fool was never one of them." She could feel Darwe's shocked eyes on her at her insolence. If there was one thing that Master Dorozi always stressed above all, it had been respect. Respect for others; respect for your blade; respect for yourself. Master Dorozi's hands clenched into fists, eyes sparking with anger at her words, but he made no comment on it, carrying on as though she had never even spoken.

  "The reason I called you two here is so that we might discuss what this means for you," he said, and Namida thought he suddenly looked more tired than she had ever seen him, as though the energy were draining out of him before their very eyes. It made him look older; more worn. "From what I hear, I believe you may have found something...interesting during your stealth test." His expression was somber. It made her fingers clench around her mug. She ignored the signals her brain was telling her that it was burning hot, to let go. To hell with it. It's not like it could hurt her anymore. Master Dorozi's brow furrowed as he locked eyes with her. "You should know that we must keep this power of yours a secret. We must keep anything that seems like it might be important secret." He grimaced. "There are eyes and ears everywhere, and you never know which side they might belong to."

  "But why do you let people stay here if you know they're betraying you?" Namida hissed. She had trusted Momal, despite his sour demeanor. She
had gone so far as to think they might even be friends.

  Master Dorozi's gaze slid away from hers, falling off to the side.

  "Sometimes, Namida," he said, "the knowledge of who will betray you just seems better, because at least it softens the blow when you can see the blow is coming."

  o—O—o

  Three years.

  Three years had passed since Namida had discovered her powers.

  Three years since they had last manifested.

  Three years of awkward dealings with everyone at the complex aside from Master Dorozi and Darwe. How could she even begin to trust anyone after what he had told her? If Momal was betraying them to only Fate knew who, then who else could be spying on them as well? She was permanently on edge, and it was exhausting. She just wanted to curl up on her side and sleep. The only issue with that was she was still having nightmares.

  Namida sighed. It seemed like she over-analyzed everyone's actions these days. It didn't seem like over-analyzing to her, though. Whenever she thought she saw something suspicious, she would immediately tell Darwe about it. He always told her to relax, and that if Master Dorozi let spies stay at the complex, it was because he knew they posed no threat that they couldn't handle should the need arise. Namida wasn't so sure about that. She felt paranoid from how many seemingly traitorous actions she witnessed from the others, though, until she finally stopped telling Darwe about them. Let her overactive imagination play things over internally until it played itself out. She sincerely hoped it would do so soon.

  "...Mida."

  Namida's head jerked up and she realized she had been nodding off at the breakfast table, the boiled oats and jerky not keeping her attention after their morning training session left her feeling more exhausted than when she'd rolled out of bed. She hadn't realized it was possible to feel any more drained than she already was, but life was just full of surprises, it would seem. She gave a slow blink before focusing on Darwe's face.

  "Sorry, what?" She had totally missed whatever it was he had said before.

  Darwe sighed, stirring his oats. He still had half a bowl left. At least it wasn't just her that didn't have an appetite this morning. Whoever was on kitchen duty today was clearly not a good cook.

  "I said, you look like you could use a good rest. I guess I was right," he said with a small smirk.

  The one-armed girl gave him a blank look. "I'll sleep when I'm dead," she said. "The last thing I need is to curl up in my bed during the day and risk another...vivid nightmare," she said, shooting him a meaningful look. It was true she had only been going to sleep when she felt like she would sink into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. She had been getting a maximum of about four or five hours a night ever since that night three years ago, when she had woken up to her bed aflame. She was not about to let that happen again; not when she knew that there were people watching, waiting for anything out of the ordinary that they could report back for the war. Mages were very rare in Solus, most of the magick users having been born in Nath'reen before the Sundering and subsequent execution of the majority of those with magick in their blood, and Namida was not about to out herself as someone who could have any sway on the outcome of this idiotic war. She wanted nothing to do with it, save for having Kaska's head. If that meant she needed to ally herself with the Queen to do so, she would do it; but it would be on her terms.

  Darwe snorted. "Yeah, well you'll be dead a whole lot sooner if you don't get some sleep already. Fate, woman! Seventeen years old, you'd think you have some idea how to take care of yourself by now," he griped, but the tone of his voice gave him away. She knew Darwe didn't mind looking after her. The softness in his gaze told her he cared about her, and would continue to worry about her whether she took care of herself or not. "If you're really that concerned about it, I'll stay with you and make sure nothing happens. Okay?"

  Namida was silent for a long moment.

  "Okay."

  Namida stumbled a bit as she stood from the breakfast table, shoving her untouched oats and tea away as she did and almost spilling them both.

  "Steady there, fleet-foot," Darwe joked, placing a hand on her arm to keep her from falling over. She shot him a half-hearted glare. Nyago whuffed as he stood and stretched, having been curled up next to her feet. He padded along quietly behind them, his ears flattening as they passed the table where Momal was sitting. The hound glared the bespectacled man down, but Momal just raised an eyebrow at the beast before digging back into his oats. Namida frowned. Nyago had never taken a liking to the man, but then again, he had never taken a liking to Kilish, either. Everyone else he outright ignored, aside from her, Master Dorozi, and Darwe. He followed her closer than her own shadow some days, and he tolerated Master Dorozi and Darwe, even going so far as to let the swordmaster pat him on the head sometimes. Darwe had never dared to touch the hostile hound, and Nyago had never ventured to offer to let him. They had a tentative truce, she supposed, based solely on their mutual friendship with her. She doubted they would get along if she ever happened to be away from them both.

  As they exited the covered hallway connecting the mess hall to the building containing their bedrooms, the sound of raised voices began to reach her ears. Nyago's ears pricked forward before flattening against his skull, and he bared his teeth. Ah, she thought. One of those voices must belong to Kilish. As the got closer to Master Dorozi's room, the noise grew louder; less muffled. She and her uncle were arguing, then. It wasn't totally unusual, but her brow furrowed as she tried to think of what might have happened to bring this on. Kilish always had her reasons for starting a fight, and Master Dorozi only argued back when he was wrongfully accused of something. As they passed by the door, she caught a few snatches of the conversation.

  "—some little girl to fight! Fate, she only has one arm, for crying out loud! What do you think she's going to do, cry the enemy to death?"

  There was the sound of a slap. Namida didn't realize she'd stopped walking until Darwe tugged at her, an urgency in his face. He obviously didn't want to be caught listening in on what was clearly a private conversation. Namida didn't think it was so private, though, when she was obviously the topic of it. She had a right to hear what was being said about her.

  "Jealousy is a very ugly color on you, Kilish," Master Dorozi rumbled. "Just because someone younger than you has already surpassed your skills does not give you the right to insult them."

  "You think she's surpassed me?" Kilish gave a harsh laugh. "That's funny, because last I knew she couldn't even spy on Momal without being caught—"

  Namida wanted to hear more, but Darwe had all but scooped her into his arms and dragged her down the hall, far enough away that they could no longer hear what was being said. Namida glared at him as he set her down, one hand on her arm still to steer her towards her room. Darwe's expression was grim.

  "Listening in on others' conversations never brings about anything good, from what I've found," Darwe said. She supposed it was true, but that didn't mean she didn't want to hear what others were saying about her. She couldn't say that she was really surprised to hear what Kilish really thought about her; Kilish was a rather volatile person, after all, and tended to lash out at others whenever she didn't get her way. That didn't mean it didn't hurt, though. It hurt, and it made her angry. Kilish had been so nice to her all these years, smiling and joking with her whenever they met in the halls or at meals. And yet...and yet...

  "Hey," Darwe said as they paused outside her door. His eyes were gentle as he pried her fingers out of the fist they had balled into. She hadn't even realized she'd clenched them so hard and was surprised to see the white crescents in her palm where her fingernails had dug into the skin. "Don't pay her any attention, okay? You've become a great swordsman, and who cares what she has to say about it."

  She cared. As much as she hated to admit it, she cared. Kilish was like the sister she'd never had. And now she found out it was all a ruse? It stung. She could feel the moisture gathering in her eyes, and she quickl
y rubbed them, blinking back the tears. She didn't want to cry in front of Darwe. She hadn't cried in years, even though the nightmares had remained. She had suppressed them; suppressed the fear and the anger and the despair she felt whenever she heard those words whispered in her brother's voice. If it hadn't been for you... Darwe opened the door to her room and pulled her into the perpetual darkness, the one thing that was always the same because she refused to allow fire in the one space she wanted to be able to call safe. The twenty-three year old sighed, pulling her close to him as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. It was one of the only things that made her feel safe these days, the warmth radiating from him in the ink black room. She reveled in it, wrapped in the embrace of her best friend and the void.

  "It's okay. Just let it all out."

  It was like the flip of a switch. The tears streamed as she cried, fat, ugly tears with snot and hiccups and incomprehensible blubbering. Darwe, to his merit, took it all in stride, ignoring the snot and tears staining his shirt as she clutched the fabric like a lifeline, like it was the only thing anchoring her so she didn't float away. Darwe made soothing sounds as he stroked her hair, reassuring her that Kilish didn't know what she was talking about; probably wasn't even aware of what she was saying, in her anger. She didn't care if Kilish was angry. It didn't give her the right.

  Eventually, the tears exhausted themselves, and she gave a few last, weak hiccups into Darwe's shirt as her eyelids grew heavy. She found crying exhausted her to the point that she would often fall into a dreamless sleep after. That was one of the reasons she had let it go on for so long after her nightmares. That, and the fact that they often caused her to have panic attacks, which she had no control over. Darwe gently guided her to the bed and tucked her under the sheets, the room dark and cool even though the scorching desert sun would soon heat the facility as it climbed higher in the sky. The older boy—no, he was a young man now, she thought, finding it hard to come to terms with the idea of it—moved to stand, but she caught the edge of his sleeve.