A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1 (20 page)

I agreed, but did not breathe a word.  A
dark foreboding washed over me, accompanied by a malaise that made me weak. 
Every morning, my stomach churned and rejected all food, leaving me to do
nothing, but lay exhausted in my bed, until the hours before dusk when I
managed to rise. 

“Be ready,” Grandmother called from the
back of my brain when I dawdled, unable to convince my feet to touch the
floor.  “The times will quickly change.  The pendulum swings again, back and
forth.  Do not lay about like a weakling when you must be strong.”

“Hush Grandmother!” I snapped, just as a
branch scratched against the window of my room.  My outburst startled the maid
who was straightening the fine silken sheets around me.

“Sorry, Ma'am.”  She lowered her eyes, a
blush creeping up her face.  Surely, she thought me insane, addressing a
wayward branch as if it was my grandmother. 

With a half curtsy, suitable for a woman
who wasn't quite the Queen, the maid disappeared into the closet to fetch a
robe for me to wear.

There were little, save a robe that fit me
well these days.  Although in the mornings, my stomach rebelled, by the
afternoon, I was famished and ate most anything. 

I had added weight and my belly had grown
round with fat.  My skin and hair shone, such that everyone remarked how
beautiful this new plump figure looked upon me. 

Marko heard this and at first, he glowed
with pride, but later, his mouth grew tight with jealousy for the compliments I
received.  In fact, it seemed as if daily his mood worsened, along with the
weather.  Each report of a Karut strike upon our cities filled him with rage.

He was sleeping little, I knew, for the
storms were forever roaring just outside.  If that were not enough, the
perimeter of the palace was surrounded by people day and night.  They begged
for food and called for help, gathering about fires made in old tin drums, some
demanding Marko's ouster, as if this was all his doing. 

Coming upon me now while the maid was
still in the closet, Marko stood before my bed and raised his hand.

“Why are you still lying about?” he
roared.  “Get up, you lazy Karut!”  He struck me across the cheek, before
turning away to pace across the room.

“Marko!” I gasped, tears quickly filling
my eyes.  My head swam as I made to sit upright, my jaw aching.

“Don't call me that, you Karut witch! 
Address me as your king and lord.”

“Why are you so angry at me, m’lord?” I
begged.  “What I have done to so displease you that you strike me, I, your
loving and humble servant?”

“The Karut Prince!” he declared, turning
on heel to rush at me again.  He came to my bedside and glared at me, as if he
knew the truth inside my heart.

Although my blood pounded in my ears, I
held my tongue and lowered my eyes.

“What of him?”

“I had a dream of him.”  Marko's smile
turned into an ugly sneer.  “He came to me in my bed and with a knife he held
to my throat, he told me he would return to claim his throne.  Never!” Marko
spun around.  “I will kill him with my bare hands before he takes my crown.” 
Then, Marko hit me upon my head with such a force that I was thrown to the
floor.  He kicked me and spat upon me, cursing me, and all my brethren.  “Soon,
you shall see him and all his warriors swinging by their necks, for we have
captured them, and will hang them from these gates.”

“No!” I wept, as Marko stormed away.

“Can I help you, Mistress?” the maid
whispered, kneeling by my side. 

“No.” 

I refused to move.  I refused to leave the
safety of the floor.  I had to think.  I had to decide what my next course of
action was to be.  Surely Marko would kill me too if he knew who had birthed
his enemy prince.  I had to do something before the both of us ended up dead.

I needed to flee, but to where and how
would I go in this condition when I could barely rise from my bed or walk ten
steps.  Was there anyone in the palace who would protect me, who would rescue
me and my son?

“Grandmother, help me!” I called to the
air.

“You are safe,” Grandmother replied. 
“Your protector is in your womb waiting for his birth.  As to the other, send
for the old man.  Bid him bring the boy to your nephew who lives amongst the
stars.  Let him wait until it is time for him, for once again, the pendulum
will swing back and forth.”

Chapter 23

Dov

We arrived on the shores of the Mishnese
continent in nearly the same place from which Amyr and I had originally
departed.  It was a bittersweet reunion for me, returning to the country of my
birth, the land of my fathers, but also the land I had fled. 

We arrived in the night, swimming ashore
from the boat, which immediately departed on sails as silent as the wind. 
Afterward, we hid beneath the docks, drying our clothes, resting, and praying
that we would accomplish what we had been sent to do. 

No prayers would come to my lips though. 
Instead, all I could think on was Amyr and his words to me.  I was the phoenix,
not him.  I was the one would save my people and restore this planet.  I wore
this on my arm and carried this vision in my heart.  This time, I was the
master and he, my loyal servant.  This time, I would be the king, not him.

We began by lighting a fire at the wharf,
igniting empty buildings, abandoned fisherman’s shacks and piles of rubbish. 
Like a long fuse twisting and turning, our path of fires crawled across the
city, the final point of detonation, still unknown. 

From there, we spread outward setting
blazes at every stop, so that by the time the winter came, Farku’s skies were
permanently darkened by thick clouds.  An acrid haze hung like fog across the
entire region, despite how the winds might try to blow it away.

The King’s forces couldn’t stop us, for we
worked quickly and disappeared long before the morning light.  We were shadows
in the dark, silent fireflies instantly stinging and flying away.

Each morning, we would rendezvous in the
woodlands, recounting our adventures and planning the next, eating whatever we
found and sleeping wherever we could manage to shelter.

Never did we lack for fire, even if the
rain had soaked all our tinder through.  Amyr could make fire in his hands,
enough to light even the most recalcitrant torch.

“How does he do that?” the other boys
asked me.  “From nothing, he creates fire in the air.”

“It is said the Great Emperor had that
skill as well,” Bear whispered.  “Amyr is the MaKennah reborn.”

“He is not,” I declared.  “He has said as
much himself.  I am the one who has returned to be the savior.”

Of course, they all laughed at this. 
Little Dov was no bigger than a child, while Amyr could have been the Great
Emperor’s twin. 

I showed them, though.  I became the best
firesetter of anyone.  Amyr would give me a torch and like a bolt of lightning,
I would race to my target and set it blazing.

I came to love the scent of smoke and
relish the warmth of the white hot flames.  Sparks drifting into the sky at
night became more beautiful to me than a galaxy of stars. 

Each time I set the first match, backing
away to the shadows as the inferno rose, a thrill would race down my spine,
filling me with a euphoric joy.  The fire became my addiction, the flames an
intoxicating drug that possessed my soul.  I forgot about Lorinda.  I forgot
about everything except the compulsion to set the flames alight again, and each
day became a trial while I waited for the night. 

In the autumn when the storms raged as
angry as if it was the height of winter, instead of returning to our hideout in
the woods, Amyr took me into a town.

“Where are we going?” I demanded, watching
my latest blaze recede from view.  “Where are the others?  Is this our new
meeting place?”

At first, Amyr didn’t respond, although I
saw a thin smile cross his lips. 

“It is time you learned to love something
other than fire,” he said, leading me into the house.

There, he left me in the care of a woman
much older than myself and with a skill that made my fire-setting pale in
comparison.

“We must leave.  Hurry, Dov.”  Amyr pulled
me from a dream. 

I had been asleep in a bed beneath silken
sheets and blanket filled with warm soft down.  It had been years since I slept
in a bed as fine as this, one worthy of my grandfather’s ducal manor house, but
with the added benefit of a beautiful naked woman by my side.

“Join us, Amyr,” the woman said, holding
out her hand.  “Or, better yet, let me leave your little friend to another
girl, while you and I go off to somewhere else.”

Amyr smiled and his odd eyes glowed. 

“Next time,” he murmured, placing a
cigarette upon his lip. 

“My girls treated you well?”

“I am satiated.”

“You are never satiated,” she protested,
sitting upright so he could see her magnificent breasts.

“Why have you come, Amyr?” I snapped,
noting his hesitation.  “Didn’t you just say that you and I have to leave?”

“I did.” 

He nodded to me, before somewhat
reluctantly, turning on heel.  The door closed behind him, followed by his
footsteps hurrying down the hall. 

“Go on, child,” the woman called me, even
though Amyr and I were nearly of the same age.  She pushed me from the bed and
so, quickly, I found my clothing and hurried from the room. 

I felt taller.  I felt older.  I felt like
I needed to light a dozen fires, after which, I would return to purchase
another girl.

A few minutes later, I met Amyr in the
doorway where he was finishing his cigarette.  An old man stood in the street
stroking the mane of an equally old mule.  Behind them, waited a cart covered
by a ragged canopy and filled with all sorts of goods, including skins, buckets
of wheat and bottles of ale.

“Get in.”  Amyr motioned in the direction
of the cart.  Then, he tossed his spent cigarette into the air, and
immediately, produced another. 

“What of the others?” I asked, climbing
into the cart, lying flat upon the wooden slats, as the canopy wasn’t tall
enough for even me to sit upright.

Amyr joined me, laying side by side, and
we began to bounce to the slow, but steady rhythm of the mule’s gait.

“Last night, they were captured by the
Korelesk army.  They have been taken to the Capitol City where they will hang.”

I started to say we must do something, but
caught my tongue before uttering such useless words.  What could we do, set
fire to the palace?  Undoubtedly, by the time we arrived in this mule cart, our
friends would be dead.  It was only because Amyr took me to the whorehouse that
I was still alive.

“You are the savior, Dov,” Amyr whispered,
although I thought I heard a smirk in his voice.  “If you wish to do something,
then, do it.”

I was.  I was the firesetter.  I was also
the only grandson of the Duke of Kildoo.  If I killed Marko Korelesk, whose
claim to the throne was no better than mine, I could be King of Mishnah and
King of Karupatani.  I could be the new Emperor.

“We will burn down the Imperial Palace,” I
decided. 

Amyr laughed.  “It is made of stone.”

“Then, we will sneak in and kill Marko
Korelesk in his bed.”

Amyr shrugged and blew a cloud of thick
gray smoke into the air.  After which, he flicked away his cigarette and yawned
heavily, rolling to his side. 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he said,
almost instantly starting to snore.

I stayed awake plotting and planning what
I would do.  In my mind, I killed the King a thousand times.  I imagined myself
upon his throne, the Great Emperor’s crown of gold upon my head.  I would
declare Lorinda, the farmer’s daughter, as my queen, and Amry would stand
behind me, always ready to repel any attack. 

I wouldn’t need an army.  Amyr, with the
fire in his fingers and his foresight, would protect me better than a hundred
men.   I would reward him for this.  I would make everyone treat him almost as
if he was the king, but no one would forget that the savior, the new MaKennah
was really me.

My bravado was short-lived when we arrived
in the Capitol City the following week.  Amyr and I left the carter at the
river’s edge and walked the remaining distance to the palace.  Snow had fallen
the night before leaving the air so frigid it chilled my bones despite the
heavy cloak and fur boots upon my feet. 

Amyr was unfazed by either the cold, or
the crowds of people in the streets.

“A coin to spare?” a boy asked me, holding
out his hand as we walked by.  I had none, but Amyr had a purse-full, although
he didn’t share. 

“Sorry,” I told the boy and every other
one who asked the same, while thinking not long ago, I was just like him.

“Get over it, Dov,” Amyr snapped, replying
to my silent thoughts, as we entered a crowd of people gathered around the
palace gates.  They were whispering amongst themselves, pointing and shoving
each other closer so all might see.

“What is it?” I whispered to Amyr.  “What
is there?”

I failed to hear Amyr’s response as a
large woman shoved me away in her effort to join the front of the crowd.  After
that, I couldn’t see over or around anyone to find my lost friend.  A few
times, I called his name, but my voice was trampled by the shouting and the
jeers.  Still, we moved forward as a pack, bodies crammed together side by
side. 

As we neared the palace gates, the
shouting changed to
Ooohs
and
Aaahs
.

“What is it?” I asked my neighbor.

“Look up, boy.”

I followed the woman’s finger as she
pointed at the pikes above the fence.  There hung four men, dangling by their
necks. 

“Serves them right, dirty Karuts,” the
woman hissed, her sentiments echoed by the crowd, while I did my best not
faint, or to spew upon her shoes.

There hung Turak, Borak, Pori and Bear,
recognizable by the thick black hair, which covered his head and naked body
like a coat.

“They say these are the ones that burned
Farku,” a man murmured.  “The firesetters who turned that city into ash.”

“Let them burn!” another cried, while I
slipped behind him, pushing all aside, reaching for a place where no one else
would be standing. 

When I was freed of the crowd, I ran. 
Heading back to the river, I followed it through the old city and into the
woods.  Amyr was lost to me in the crowd.  I would never find him and neither
was I certain that I wished to. 

He had brought me here.  He had taken me
from Lorinda and the village.  He had brought upon all these boys a horrific,
ghastly death.

That night, as I hid inside a fallen log,
sheltering from the endless gales of ice and snow, I realized I was not the
firesetter after all.  I could not summon flames to my fingers.  Only Amyr
could do that.  Whatever I had done, whatever I would do, would be at his
behest.  It had always been this way, and it would always be.  If I was to
become the king, it would only be if Amyr had decided I should sit his throne. 

With nowhere else to go and the motherland
too far away and across the sea, I followed the winds, which blew north in the
direction of Kildoo. 

Weeks later, I arrived at my grandfather’s
door, collapsing into his serving woman’s arms.

“
’Tis
like seeing a ghost, I am. 
Ye are the spittin’ image of the late Duke’s son and ye arrived just in time to
see yer granddad’s body laid to rest.”

“Then, I am the Duke now,” I declared and
so, I was, and would remain, until Amyr disappeared, leaving me alone to
challenge Marko Korelesk.