The Seekers of Fire (5 page)

The healer gave him a hard look. "I need you to calm down and lie still if I am to help you, young man."

Rianor nodded slightly. Throughout his life he had rarely faced an authority high enough to challenge his own, but right now the man was just that. He did not threaten and did not force submission, but he nonetheless radiated power that was strong and established itself in a pervasive, albeit soft, way. Rianor should not be surprised. His earlier investigations had revealed that the man was one of Mierber's best healers—or a Commander of Life and Death, as his kind were known better. Rianor shook his head to chase the name away; the last thing he needed now was a painful memory. He focused his attention on Linden's father again and murmured, "Do not '
young man
' me, if you would please, sir."

The older man gave him another hard look, and Rianor met and held his gaze. The healer did not look away.

Rianor broke the eye contact as the weeping from the other room stopped completely. He tried to stand up, fighting sudden dizziness.

The healer caught his shoulders and supported him as the objects in the room blurred and the floor started shaking. "Back to the bed now," he said with a voice that was not unkind. "I'll bandage you, and then you shall rest. We can talk in the morning."

Rianor shook his head, then straightened with some effort and looked into the healer's eyes again. "Thank you, but no, Mister Ellard. We have no time. I must leave now, and I am taking Linden with me."

The man's body stiffened almost imperceptibly and a droplet of sweat glistened on his eyebrow, but he did not reply immediately.

"I am sorry," Rianor said softly. "I did not plan it like this."

"No." The healer was a tall man, but he appeared to shrink. For a moment there was fear in his eyes, and there was pain, but then he straightened again and his face became hard. "I am not giving my girl away."

"I am not asking for your permission."

Rianor waited for the man to fully perceive his words, then grabbed his shoulders and locked his eyes. "Listen to me, Mister Ellard. The young Mentor will wake up soon. He will either think that he killed the old one himself and that she was a vision, or he will go looking for her. Or he might do both."

He released the father's shoulders and continued in an even softer voice, "Do you know what they do to reprobates?"

"What do
you
know about it?" the father whispered. Rianor could see the effort it cost him to keep himself in control, but his voice was level when he spoke again. "And why did you kill one of them, but left the other one alive?"

Rianor laughed humorlessly. "I am not a cold-blooded murderer, I assure you, no matter how casually I described it. It had to be done, so I did it, and I will come to terms with my own actions when I have had more time to reflect upon them. I value human life, Mister Ellard, just like a healer should." He met the eyes of Linden's father again.

"I see." The healer shook his head. "Tonight's circumstances are extraordinary and priorities are shifted, as you have discovered yourself. Even for a healer some lives are more precious than others."

Rianor looked aside. "Besides, if both of the night patrol were found dead in the street, their brothers and sisters would do quite more than look for a young woman. Your neighbors at least have a chance now."

"I am not entirely without resources, my lord. I will take care of my daughter." Ellard wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and Rianor sighed.

"I am confident that I have made myself clear, sir. The lady is coming with me."

"The
lady?
"

"Yes—my lady apprentice, Mister Ellard, what did you think I meant?" He sighed again, fighting the urge to succumb to the dizziness. "With me, she will be an apprentice and a lady, and no Mentors will be able to touch her. With you and your
resources,
what will happen to her? Will you hide her in the slums or in the villages, and how much better do you think that will be than giving her up to the Mentors? Even if you had a choice, you would be a fool to not give her to me."

The reply came from behind his back, in a melodic voice that displayed almost no fear. "Yes, Dad might not have a choice. But I do."

There were still tears on her face, but she met his gaze unflinchingly. Then she gently but firmly removed her mother's arm from her shoulders and stepped towards him.

"It is my life you are talking about. But I thank you for saving it."

She smiled slightly at him just as her mother's worried eyes focused on his wound. The woman clenched her hands together, before she looked at her husband. "Ellard, there was no need, was there?"

So Rianor had looked bad enough for her to think about the Trial. There was no mistake in the shadow over her face. He had seen such before. Instinctively he raised his hand to silence the healer before he had the chance to utter a word.

"No, madam," Rianor said, careful to control his voice. "There was not."

* * *

Linden watched silent communication pass between lord Rianor and her parents. Then the three avoided each other's eyes, her mom still clenching her hands, her dad concentrating on a bottle of medicine, the young lord reaching towards the table to reclaim his dagger. She opened her mouth to inquire, but the sight of the weapon nauseated her. She felt the lord's other hand extend to support her as she faltered. His touch was confident despite his own condition, and it was not unpleasant. She jerked her eyes away from the dagger, the image of it in the old Mentor's body all too clear, and met his eyes again.

Dad had reached towards her, too, but he was slower, and now Mom was holding his hand and seemed to be halting him. Both were watching the young people's interaction.

"It is not the tool that is responsible for the action," the lord said softly, his words bearing an almost imperceptible hint of hardness. His gaze was intent on hers, and his hand was holding her arm firmly. Linden watched him fixedly back, barely noticing Mom shake her head at Dad as he motioned to move towards them.

"You are right, of course," Linden said, no hardness entering her own voice despite her best efforts. "The fault is entirely mine, and I will face the consequences. And I can stand by myself, you know."

The lord smiled then, the smile slowly turning from humorless to teasing. He gently released her arm, after making sure that she could really stand by herself. "Very strong-minded, aren't you, Miss Linden. I do appreciate your concept of responsibility, although you misunderstood my words. The fault is not entirely yours. It was not you who moved
my
hand. Still, you will have the responsibility of choice, since you seem to value it so much. Will you come with me?"

The gaze penetrating hers was serious now, and somehow Linden knew that he meant it, and that he was also showing her respect. He was a High Lord. He could force her to go with him if he wanted, and the Militia would never do anything once he had reached his House with her. Neither would they enter a House to punish a Mentor's murderer, whether the murderer be the lord or herself. The Mentors themselves could not go uninvited, either. The Bers might, but rumor claimed that they did not do that as often as they should.

Also, as the lord's apprentice Linden herself would become a lady, which was a dream, most often unfulfilled, of every common-born person who applied to join the Science Guild. If he did make her his apprentice, of course. People said that lords were not to be trusted.

Something must have shown in her expression, for he smiled. "It is not an easy thing, choice. Many consider it a terrible inconvenience."

His smile was handsome, but that was not the reason she returned it. "And some, my lord, consider the conveniences of the multitudes most inconvenient of all."

"And will you two consider it convenient to stay quiet for a moment and let me bandage lord Rianor, before he has bled to death?"

Dad inserted himself between them, bringing the pungent smell of iodine antiseptic, and Linden snapped out of the smile and the unreal light mood. It must be a strange form of hysterics, teasing a High Lord of all people, now of all times. She could not trust him. Then again, besides her parents and perhaps Cal, whom could she trust? Somehow, she was more willing to trust a man who would fight alongside her and share her opinion of choice, rather than someone who would, say, overturn a bucket on her so that she would kneel or lie trembling.

"I will come with you. But only if it will not make the situation worse for my parents."

Dad's hands trembled at that, almost spilling the medicine he was just shaking. She reached towards him, and he hugged her, and she sensed his heart missing its rhythm. Linden had talked to Mom after the Mentors, but there had been no time to talk to Dad, and she felt new tears mist her eyes. There was no time now, either.

"Mom and I will be all right, darling," he whispered, "don't worry about us. But you—Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dad. I am."

Mom came beside them, and the three of them embraced, then Linden gently extracted herself and stood beside lord Rianor. He smiled at her again."Let's go, my lady."

"I will bandage you first." Dad was at the lord's other side now, suddenly erect and confident, scrutinizing the young man's blooded face. "No way I am letting you go outside like this."

"Mister Ellard, we have taken too long already. We have no time."

"We do have some." Linden's dad looked at her mom, then at Linden, and then once more at lord Rianor. "You know about the Healers' Trial, so I am guessing that you know about the Passage, too. I will show you the entrance, lord Rianor of Qynnsent, and may the Master forgive me and protect all of us, so that I see my child again."

Chapter 2: Passage

Excerpts from
Introduction to Mierenthia
by Eliss Librarian, Year of the Master 391:

Our Calendar is one of the gifts that the Master has bestowed upon us. The human mind is fickle and easily confused, so measuring time in the right way is essential, for a better self and for a better world. The main units of time are a second, a minute, an hour, a day-night sequence, a quarter, a year, and a century. A second equals a moment or a breath, a minute has sixty seconds, an hour has sixty minutes, a day-night has twenty-four hours, a quarter has ninety-one days, and a year has four quarters as well as the Day of the Master. The Day of the Master occurs on the day between Day 91 of the Fourth Quarter of one year and Day 1 of the First Quarter of the next. We call a sequence of a hundred years a century.

...

Our Blessed Master, in his Eternal Place, has ten trusted assistants, the Powers That Be. They stood beside Him once, when he freed our world from the Lost Ones. Now they watch over us together with Him, and would sometimes come to us and guide us. They watch the Edges, too, to help keep the Lost Ones away from us.

Excerpt from
More On Our Mierenthia
by Eliss Librarian, Year of the Master 394

Reprobates have been known to call the Bessove, those fairytale creatures with rumored powers and abilities beyond those of any human, the Powers That Be. Reprobates have also been known to insist on the Bessove's existence in the real world. This is all naught but a product of the Lost Ones spreading foulness and confusion, for the Lost Ones are always trying to reach inside our minds and break the Master's world.

There is no power but that of the Master and those who would serve Him—and that of the foul ones who would sunder the world apart if they could.

Linden

Night 77 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

Linden shifted her gaze away from the fire in lord Rianor's hands. Bright little dots continued dancing in her eyes for several seconds, so she saw the stone only after her boot hit it. The lord caught her elbow as she bent aside to try to discern the stone's path by the clattering and the echoes.

"No," he whispered in a vexed voice.

"I am only listening!" she whispered back, and then after a second of hesitation added, "My lord."

He silently pushed her forward and kept his fingers on her elbow. The echoes slowly faded away. So did Linden's desire to follow them, to go where the stone had gone. She matched the lord's pace, a part of her feeling irritated because of his abrupt manner, while the rest was glad of his closeness in the dark tunnel. The darkness, which started slightly away from the tiny fire, had the color and density of ink. It might have the same smudged and sticky feel, too, if she but extended her hand and touched it. It smelled of must and old age.

Another stone clattered away, but this time it was lord Rianor who had kicked it. It was his fingers, too, that stiffened with tension. Linden almost knocked the light out as she grabbed his other hand, holding him like a moment ago he had held her, so that he would not go where she herself might have gone.

His fingers relaxed, then he turned to her with a wry smile.

"It seems that we are even now, Linde."

Linden released his hand and stared at the fire again, so that she would not have to face him. He had used her pet name, and for some reason it almost made her cry. It sounded almost like a normal "
Lind,
" but not entirely. In the lord's voice, the name had a more polished feel. It was strange and new, and in a way it was more disturbing than even this place of shadows and treacherous stones was.

They had walked in almost-darkness for an hour. She had kept control. Until now. Now, even the mobile light could not distract her any more, although she had never seen a mobile candle before this night. She had not even known that a thing of such possibly great implications existed. Dad had hinted that the mobile might even be different from Ber fire, even though it was not
wildfire
—but what other fire could there be? Yet, now she could not focus on this. She, who would otherwise tinker even with a stove to see how it worked ...

"We are not even," she said softly.
You did not leave your family tonight, ignorant of whether they would be safe. You know where we are going and what we will find there. I did not kill to save your life.

The lord let go of her elbow and held her chin, forcing her to look away from the fire and at his face. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden lack of brightness.

"I do not like being contradicted, my apprentice."

My apprentice.
His voice was soft, but there was a glint in his gaze that made her think about steel, as in both color and hardness, and he was holding her chin a little too firmly. She was alarmed, for a moment, then she stared back at him.

"And I don't like being manhandled,
my master.
"

She swiftly raised her hand and grabbed his, her thumb pressing at his wrist. He had done this to her before, so she should be able to do it to him herself. The result was that he squeezed her chin even harder, his other hand shooting up to her face together with the candle. She flinched in expectation of the blow, and trembled in surprise when he did not hit her but seized her fingers and fixed them to his wrist.

"Then let me teach you how to not be manhandled," he said in the same soft voice and moved her fingers so that she was now holding his wrist at a different angle. "It only works if you put pressure right here." He adjusted her thumb to a spot between his bones. "You are observant, Linde, I like that. Now free yourself."

Linden carefully moved her thumb away and then back, making sure that she could find the pressure point by herself. She pushed at it and felt the lord's hand tense a little, so she stopped. He tightened his grip on her slightly in response. "Do it again. This is not enough for me to release you."

Now that the light was in front of his face, Linden looked at him closely. The steely edge was still in his eyes, but there were shadows beneath them, too, and the bandages had dislocated, revealing a part of a whip cut. The purplish tint of dry blood and iodine contrasted sharply with the lightness of his skin, and despite the cold air there were drops of sweat on his temples. Any anger left in her faded.

"Your bandages. I ... I can try to fix them if you want—" She reached out to him, but his hand was on her mouth before she could finish the words. He flattened himself to the tunnel's wall, pulling her with him.

"Someone is coming," he whispered in her ear, as she fought to breathe, her heart suddenly racing. "Don't move, Linde."

Linden bit her lower lip, trying to not tremble. Darkness enveloped them. It was not like the darkness of night, when shadows danced both in the streets and in weak minds, and people tried to stay behind bolted doors. Night's darkness had street lights, sleep candles, and moons. Night's darkness, though feared and condemned by Mierberians and those who supposedly watched over their quintessences, still had
light
in it.

This darkness did not. What had resembled ink before, now looked and felt like a wall made of nothing. It seemed to be shrinking; it brought the tons of stone, dirt, and the whole city above closer to her, way too close. Linden's hands clutched the lord's arm of their own accord, while she struggled to regain control of her thinking. At least the Passage was silent now; at least neither she nor the lord presently felt the urge to chase the stones to whatever doom lay in the Passage's deeps. At least nothing was tinkering with their minds, luring them astray. Perhaps it was not the darkness itself that they had to fear, but only what lived in it. Perhaps the darkness itself was no more perilous than the Master was real, for Linden only knew about both from Mentors, teachers, and books.

Darkness might even be good, in a way. If fairytales held any truth, she who dwelt in the deeps had no love for darkness—and she was evil. Darkness might keep her away.

"
There is someone who lives down there,
" Linden's dad had said, "
and you should not disturb her. You must believe me, though there is no time to explain. She is a samodiva, one of the Bessove, and she can heal people when no one else can. She can kill, too.
"

At those words, Linden had sensed fear in Dad's voice, and the lord had looked at him in a certain way that had made Dad look away.

"She is what gives Commanders our power," Dad softly said then. "We need her. She should not touch you if you stay on the path, heed no songs, and do not follow rolling stones."

Now, in the Passage, Linden was trembling from fears that she had so far held at bay—and yet, irrationally, she feared the darkness more. But she and the lord still had the fire, albeit concealed, so was it really dark when you knew that there was light but could not see it?

She realized she had said the last sentence aloud when the lord whispered, "Depends on whether it is light or darkness that you truly want."

Linden did not have time to dwell on his words, for just then someone else's light floated in from a side tunnel. Yet another mobile candle, carried by a woman who walked bent and slowly, tripping at stones and careless of the clatter she was causing. Her cloak was drawn tightly around her, a low hood concealing her features. A stench of sweat and cheap alcohol drifted towards Linden and lord Rianor as she passed them by. Something else reached them, too, a hint of a sound on the edge of perception, a whiff of a melody and inexplicable grief. Linden trembled again and felt the lord's arms tighten around her shoulders, his own body rigid and still.

The woman halted beside one of the doors that concealed stairs winding up to the higher level of the Passage, which was tangent to but never actually crossed the city sewers. She reached forward with her left hand.

"In the name of Him who watches this abject world, open!" she screamed in a voice much younger than her walking manner had implied, and soon the door withdrew inside the wall. A clock-like ticking sound overwhelmed the passage. The woman jerked her hand back and stood motionless before the threshold, as if she hesitated whether to cross it. Then, slowly, she turned back as the last faint echoes of ticking ebbed and the distant woeful melody heightened. Pale candlelight glowed on red, tear-brimmed eyes that only this spring had been blue and shiny. Greasy locks of once lustrous raven hair fell over a pallid and swollen face.

Oh, Katrina.
Linden would have run to her, had Katrina not suddenly grabbed a stone and blindly hurled it forward, reaching for a second one as the first bounced from a wall before her. "Singing, Dimna?" The voice was shrill and unstable, nothing like the gentle and sweet voice of the friend who had once been like an older sister to Linden.

"I will find a way to destroy you, Dimna. You can't hide from me always, you wretched, perfidious monster! Give my baby back!"

Katrina stumbled through the portal just before the door clicked into its original position, and for a few moments of darkness and quiet Linden thought it had all been a nightmare. Then the monster's heartwrenching song was back, as was lord Rianor's candle. For a second he and Linden regarded each other in silence, before she had to look away, her vision suspiciously blurred.

"I knew her. She was my best friend. She left Mierber to recover after she lost her newborn baby."

"I am sorry." He retrieved a handkerchief from his coat's pocket and handed it to her. There were words embroidered on it, as well as a crest, but they blurred before she dabbed her eyes with it. Lord Rianor looked at the now sealed portal, then took Linden's hand and led her in the opposite direction. His words seemed to blend with the song, which sounded clearer as they neared a side passage.

"So the Commanders did not save someone she loved."

Linden met his eyes again and glimpsed a hint of an emotion, but it disappeared immediately. She wished her own feelings were hidden equally well.

"She did not, herself. She was the best healer, even better than Dad, but she could not do anything. Or so I knew." She trembled again, and he squeezed her hand almost imperceptibly. She squeezed back, wondering if it was normal for his touch to make her feel so much better. She also wondered if the steadily growing desire to close her eyes, cover her ears, and not think of anything any more was a sign of immaturity or of going mad.

"Believe it or not," she said after some time, "until tonight all I knew about Commanders was that they could heal people when no one else could. I thought "
Commander
" to be just a fancy title for those with more intelligence and skill than others. Indeed, I only knew the information you can find in books. And I thought that a
samodiva
was an invented forest creature from fairytales, not someone confined in a passage below Mierber, who somehow does the healers' job for them. Somehow!" Linden stifled a sudden urge to laugh. "What a convenient word! Don't people just love their convenient words! Do you know
how
exactly she does that?
I
want to know. I am so tired of being either cajoled or threatened into ignorance, be it for the sake of my safety or for someone's convenience, or for the supposed cleanliness of my quintessence! I want to know how the wretched healing—and everything else—
works!
"

"Besides, I want to know if she kills babies," she whispered at the same moment when the lord said, "So we both want the same things."