Firesoul Read online

  "It's the heat." Jiri touched one of the trees on the wall, and the stone powdered beneath her fingertips, like ash. "All the enchantments woven through the walls, in what's left of these statues. They're crumbling like the stone."

  "I feel it, too," Linaria said. "Layers of spells. This place should be impossible to find, much less get into. But the magic has faded."

  "Not faded." Jiri rubbed her fingers against her armor, trying to clean them. "The magic's been consumed from the inside, turned into nothing but heat and ash. Something here, something that was here, burned it all."

  "So we learn a little, but not enough. Let's keep moving." Sera cut across the room, the broken pieces of the golems crunching like pumice beneath her boot heels. "Bring some light," she ordered, standing in the dark arch to the right of the one they had came through.

  Jiri frowned but went over to her, bringing her light-tipped spear.

  "It's blocked," Sera said. A wall of stone rose in front of them, filling the passage. There were marks on it and around it, scrapes and scratches in the symbol-etched stone, but they were shallow.

  "They didn't get through here." Morvius stepped up to the wall with them, giving it an experimental and ineffective shove. "So if there was anything they didn't clean out—"

  "Treasure hunt on your own time, Morvius," Sera said. "I want to see what they did get into." The paladin turned and headed for the archway that lay opposite the one they had entered the room through. Jiri paused, not happy that she was following, and not exactly sure how she felt about agreeing with Sera. She gave up and followed, wanting to see what was in the next room, even though the idea that there was something down here, something alive in the heat with them, kept pulling at her thoughts.

  "They broke through this one."

  Sera's good at speaking the obvious. Through the archway beyond the paladin, Jiri could see a hole in the wall where one of the tightly fitted stones had been broken and pulled out. It left a gap just large enough for someone to crawl through. Jiri crouched down to look through the hole and Sera knelt beside her, her armored presence both reassuring and unnerving.

  "Do you see anything?" Sera asked.

  "Shadows, stone, and something that might be metal." Jiri squinted at the gleaming reflection, but she couldn't tell what the thing was, other than shiny.

  "Give me your spear. I'll push it through, then go in. You'll follow."

  Jiri felt her grip on her spear tighten, felt the heat around her grow a little, but she reined in her anger. If I'm going to use this woman, then I might as well use her. She handed her spear over and Sera slid it through the hole, sending its light into the other room. The paladin then slung her shield onto her back and started to crawl through the hole, her sword in front of her.

  Jiri watched her go, her empty hands ready to flash with fire.

  "Ten gold if you goose her," Morvius whispered behind her, and Jiri's whole body flinched.

  She didn't bother to look back, though. She could hear Linaria growl softly and the jingle as the half-elf hit the man's armor, hear Morvius's muttered protest. In front of her, Sera was through, and the light shifted in the other room as the paladin picked up Jiri's spear.

  "Jiri," she called, and this time Jiri didn't care that she was being summoned. She crawled through the hole and found herself in a broad, square room, its sides arranged like terraces, marching up in a series of ledges to the high ceiling. A long stone block filled most of the floor, its top smooth as a table.

  That table, and all the terraces that climbed like shelves around it, were crowded with figures. Men, women, animals, plants, spirits, each carved in exquisite detail in ebony and mahogany, ironwood and teak, the wood inlaid with ivory and turquoise and obsidian. Every one was different, but the little figures shared one thing. Each had a spike of iron through it, the dull gray metal gleaming without rust in the light from Jiri's spear.

  "Oh ancestors," Jiri breathed, staring at the carvings. Her skin and soul shivered, and she felt that touch, that sense of something alive, aware, watching her.

  "They're kindi."

  Chapter Eleven

  Kindi

  Don't touch them," Jiri breathed. Why didn't I think of this? I should have guessed. She stared at the carvings, still beneath their thin coating of dust, and their eyes all seemed to stare back. "Don't move." Tearing herself away from the kindi, Jiri examined the floor. The dust was scuffed with tracks, too disturbed to decipher.

  "Kindi." Sera held the spear up, raising the light. "What does that mean?"

  Jiri bit her lip. I should never have named them. She shouldn't have, but the shock of realizing what these things must be had unnerved her. Years ago, she had made that promise to Oza, when the stories he taught her had touched on these dangerous little carvings. Promised him to never speak of them to the other children of the village. Promised him to never even breathe their name in Kibwe, where foreign ears might hear it. Jiri didn't answer Sera, taking a careful step forward instead, moving around the table. She kept to the center of the aisle, as far as possible from the figures that surrounded her. The way the shadows shifted when the paladin moved the light behind her made Jiri's skin crawl. It was far too easy to imagine that the carvings were moving, turning their heads to track her as she walked by.

  "What's what mean?" Linaria slipped through the hole and stood, looking around. There was a sound behind her, and she called back, "It's not treasure, it's just a bunch of little wooden carvings. No, stay there and watch our backs. I don't want anything trying to seal us in here."

  Just little wooden carvings. Jiri kept moving around the table. How many? A thousand? So many pieces of so many souls. Oza never said they made so many.

  He said they destroyed them.

  "Don't touch anything," she said to Linaria. Then she saw it: A gap in the neat rows of figures along the edge of the great stone table. Just a little space of disturbed dust. On one side was a carved ebony woman clutching a malachite child and an iron arrow. On the other, a mahogany lion curled around itself, an iron thorn piercing its paw. Jiri bent over, careful to keep her distance from those figures and all the others, and examined the empty spot. In its center she could see a mark that resembled a few links of chain carved into the stone. The carving must have stood on that symbol. Holding her breath so that she didn't disturb the dust, Jiri found something else. The mark of fingers on the table edge, as if something had rested its hand here. Something small as a child, but with claws. "The biloko took this one," she said, barely aware that she was speaking out loud.

  "Jiri. What are these things?" Sera's question was a command, and Jiri straightened.

  "Dangerous," she said. "Step out of here, and I'll tell you why."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "They were magic, I could feel that. Some mix of divination and necromancy, illusion and enchantment." In the domed room of broken statues, Linaria folded her arms, staring at Jiri. "Strong magic."

  "Necromancy." Sera said the word with disgust. "I didn't have nearly enough time to examine them all, but none of them felt evil to me."

  "Evil? I don't know what you or your goddess think evil is, but kindi..." Jiri could think better out here, without all those eyes on her, staring at her, but her mouth still felt dry, her throat tight with fear. "From what little I know, they're not evil. But they can be dangerous."

  "Jiri." Linaria's voice cut her off. "What. Are. They."

  Jiri took a breath and pulled her thoughts together. "They're a kind of fetish. A made thing that has had a spirit bound to it." Her hand rose and touched the bone carvings that hung from the chain around her neck. "Like this. Each of these charms is carved from the bone of the animal that it represents. Each has a little piece of that animal's spirit attached. Kindi are like that."

  Like that. Jiri couldn't look at Linaria. She stared at the carved walls around her, guilt and anger rolling through her. You made me promise, Oza. Not to talk about them. Too dangerous, you said. But you also said they were all
gone.

  They're not.

  And I think Patima has one.

  "Fetishes. Kindi." Sera's mouth twisted around the words as if they left a bad taste. "How are they dangerous? What can they do?"

  "Nothing, if you don't touch them," Jiri said. "If you do, if you call out their spirits, then—" Jiri shook her head. "Then I don't know. Many different things could happen, good or bad, depending on what's bound inside. You could get pulled into the spirit's dreams and be lost. Or it might take you over. Or escape, and turn on you."

  "Is that what happened?" Sera asked. "Did Patima or Corrianne or one of those others touch one of these kindi and set that fire-thing free?"

  "I think—" Jiri cut herself off. I've said too much already, and not enough. "I think we shouldn't stand around in here, guessing."

  "Really? Seems like that's mostly what we do, now," Morvius said.

  Jiri ignored him and took her spear over to the last arch. The stone blocks that had once filled it were broken, shattered into gravel. Only the ragged edge of one remained, sitting on one side of the archway. When Jiri touched it with the butt of her spear, it crumbled into dust.

  "The stone here is falling apart," Linaria said. The half-elf stepped back, staring up at the ceiling. "There are cracks spreading from this, across the walls and up the dome."

  Jiri looked down the dark hall, which twisted and dropped, just like the passage that had led them to this room. Another dark throat, and it breathed, a current of air flowing up it, hotter than the stones around them. "That was where they kept it sealed away. I have to go down there. I have to—" For a moment, the room swam in front of Jiri, the trees in the jungle shifting, the distant carved buildings moving, as if seen through shining curtains of heat. "I need to get out of this armor."

  Her hands moved, and she jerked the leather off, breathed deep as it came free and the hot, dry wind blew across the sweat-soaked cotton of her mud cloth. She dropped the leather, not bothering to pack it. "I'm going down there."

  "You're having trouble standing," Linaria said. "And that tunnel looks like it might collapse."

  "I'll be fine." Jiri pulled out her waterskin and took a long drink. "I need to see what's down there."

  "So do I," Sera said. She eyed the ceiling. "Linaria, you and Morvius stay here. If there's a collapse, you can dig us out."

  Linaria folded her arms, thinking about it, but she eventually nodded, her long white hair dripping sweat. "I don't like splitting up. But if that ceiling does fall, you'll need someone to save you."

  "Save them?" Morvius asked. "Those rocks fall, they're likely dead."

  "You'll pull us out," Sera said. "Dead or alive. Because Linaria has said she will, and because you have some idea of the value of my armor." The paladin looked to Jiri. "Let's go."

  There's no way you would let me do this alone, is there? Jiri took one last long pull of water, then picked up her spear. Before her, the passage breathed out its heat like a sleeping dragon. Right now, though, I can live with that.

  "Let's go," she said, and started down the tunnel.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The tunnel made three full circles, getting gradually steeper. Notches were carved into the floor like crude steps, and they were the only things that kept Jiri and Sera from sliding down like morsels of meat bound for some hellish gullet. By the end they were both struggling, Jiri climbing down cautiously with sweat-slick fingers and toes, Sera clumsier in her armor and boots. Finally the steep slant of the floor evened out, the stone hall opening into a small alcove. There was another opening here, where one last wall had once cut this place off from the outside world. That wall was just a pile of dust on the floor now, and as Jiri wiped the stinging sweat away from her eyes she wondered if it had been like that when the Consortium raiders had broken in, or if had still been standing, a seemingly mighty wall of stone that had broken into dust at a touch.

  Doesn't matter, she thought, watching as the wind pulled the dust up into the air like gray flames. "Doesn't..." she trailed off. "Hot," she mumbled, and a hand touched her shoulder, pressed a waterskin against her lips. She drank. When it went away, she blinked, and there was Sera, her sharp eyes staring at her.

  "You don't know anything about me," Jiri breathed over heat-cracked lips. "About Oza, or Hadzi, or my village, or all those that died. You just want a dog to lead your hunt."

  "Does it matter?" Sera asked.

  "No. Yes." Jiri reached out and took the paladin's waterskin, lifted it and drained it. "Does it matter to you, if your goddess thinks the same of you?"

  "No," said Sera. Then, "Yes."

  Jiri handed back the skin and shook her head. The world wavered around her, but she pulled it back together, piece by piece. She was buried in the Pyre, almost in the heart of it, surrounded by heat. She couldn't, she wouldn't fall. Turning her back on Sera, Jiri entered the final room.

  Beyond the dust, another passage stretched. It was different from the ones they had traveled before, narrow and tight, and her light gleamed off the dark stone. This wasn't carefully cut granite. It was obsidian, and the images cut into those black slabs had edges sharp as knives. Jiri walked between those walls, razor edges looming like threats on either side of her, and stared at the carvings.

  It was a city again, and a jungle, like before but different. This city's towers burned, spires wrapped in ebony flames. Its walls were broken, and through them Jiri could see figures running. They were tiny and dark, but their maker had somehow gifted them with such a sense of terror that Jiri had to look away.

  The jungle offered no comfort, though. In the twisting stone branches, things were hidden, not quite human, not quite animal. Clawed, thick-fingered hands clutched at the branches, and through broad leaves Jiri glimpsed faces that might have been apes, but their black eyes blazed with a focused hate that no animal could contain. Jiri tore her eyes away from those snarling faces and made herself keep moving, until the narrow walls pulled back and she stood staring into the Pyre's burning heart.

  The heat here was immense, a crackling, blazing beast that ate Jiri's breath, made her choke and dried her eyes. It came from the floor, a circle of black and gray soapstone intricately carved with symbols. Blinking and half-stupid with the heat, Jiri couldn't understand them, but she felt the prickly touch of broken magic sizzling in the heat.

  Around her, the obsidian walls rose up and up, until they came together, making a point somewhere high above. Up there, set in that dark, glossy stone, diamonds sparkled like stars. Closer to the floor, the carved city still covered the walls. It was truly lost in its burning now, its buildings bursting, its towers falling, the ground itself opening up to spill fire through its black streets. The carvings told a story of smoke and flame, of a city collapsing more and more as it marched around the wall. By the time it reached the other side, opposite the arch where Jiri stood, there was nothing left but smoke and ash, rising up, and those swirling clouds twisted together to make a sculpture, an obsidian statue that stretched high up the wall. It was a man with great black wings of smoke and flame, his face twisted into something horrible, an expression that might be agony or delight, suffering or triumph. Jiri looked up at those clenched teeth, the narrow eyes, and the wings of the statue seemed to flicker and swirl. It was terrible and beautiful, and Jiri felt fire curling through her, felt the magic of it, so rich, so potent, so destructive—

  "That's it, isn't it?" Sera's voice, harsh with heat, cut through the rippling air. "That's the thing that destroyed your village."

  Thirty Trees. The name felt meaningless, but there were sensations buried in its syllables, love and shame, and Jiri took a gasping breath of the hot air and wrenched her eyes away from that terrible face.

  She slipped a little as she did, stepped forward and caught herself, her toes touching the soapstone floor, and she felt pain jolt through her as the calluses on them began to burn. She jerked her foot back, the hurt clearing her head.

  "It is," Jiri rasped. She looked at the statu
e, avoiding its dark eyes, and found the hands, cupped before its belly. As if it had held something once. That's where it was. The kindi that Patima stole.

  Did she know what she was unleashing?

  Jiri blinked at the room around her, her eyes too dry. She had to guess. It's not like the ancestors were being subtle here.

  "Step aside." The paladin was moving forward, her sword raised. "I want a closer look, and I have boots."

  Jiri hesitated. Patima might have stolen the kindi from this place, but it still felt dangerous, crackling with heat and magic. But Sera was moving past her and Jiri had to step carefully, trying not to touch the burning floor before her or the sharp walls beside her.

  Sera stepped out into the room.

  Her boots began to smoke, and for the first time Jiri saw sweat appear on the paladin's face, tiny drops rolling from her short hair down beneath the metal collar of her armor. The magic that had been bound into the stone of the floor and the walls sputtered and sparked against Jiri's soul, but nothing came together, nothing did anything. Age and heat had stripped the purpose away from these carved curses and charms. Still, Jiri stared at them, watching, and that was how she spotted it: A kindi the size of her hand, standing in a little niche in the wall not far from the door, its dark wood blending in with the stone. A man, holding a spear and standing in a gate, one of the few pieces of the carved city depicted as still whole. Like some last guardian, standing alone against the wings of destruction that were closing around it.

  Jiri glanced at Sera. The paladin stood before the statue, staring up at it as if memorizing its features. Moving quickly and quietly, Jiri slipped her pack from her back and set the leather bag on the hot soapstone. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the room. Jiri felt the heat of the floor through her bag, but she wasn't burning, not yet, and she scooped up the little carving. And almost dropped it when pain seared across her palm.