Ember Gods

Chapter 12

Eachan checked that the bars were snug before lowering the shade. Already the villagers were wandering the streets, seeking escape from turmoil.

"Father, what should I do with her now?" Duana asked.

He sighed, turning to his daughter. The light cast her face in shadow, but the stress and worry were still evident.

"I'm not certain," he said. It'd been a while since he'd reported any activity to the Lorkon about the girl who'd come searching for her brother. They'd sent one of their Fire Turners—part human, part Fire Pulser—to inspect and question Aloren. But everything had been silent for a while.

Eachan still hadn't repaired the wooden floors of the town hall where Sanso had walked, burning the grain with flames that flickered from the soles of his feet. Eachan stared at the charred footprints leading to the room where Aloren cowered all day. He shuddered, remembering the turn the inquisition had taken. The girl would be scarred for life—and not just emotionally. She had survived, but hadn't spoken a word since. Six days had passed. How could someone go that long without uttering a sound?

Grabbing the soup Duana had prepared for the girl, he climbed the stairs to the section of the town hall where he and Duana lived, and where he'd assigned a room to the girl. He stopped in her doorway, peering at her. She scurried to the corner of the room, instinctively covered the burns on her upper arms.

"I'm not going to hurt you, girl. How many times do I need to tell you that?" He sighed in impatience, putting the container on the floor. "Here's your food."

Eachan strode down the hallway to his own quarters. He couldn't handle much more of this silence. It was awkward enough having her trapped in the town hall by the orders of the Lorkon. If she didn't start talking soon, he'd . . . he'd . . . Eachan paused. What would he do? He didn't even know.

Reports to the Lorkon were expected as frequently as her condition changed. She hadn't spoken in so long, they were probably wondering if he slacked in his duties.

He sighed, leaning against his door. He hated working for the Lorkon. Hated it more than anything else. Even maintaining his and his daughter's sanity and health no longer seemed better than the price he constantly paid. But, as many of the people in Maivoryl City had discovered, there wasn't a way to go back on agreements made with the Lorkon. They'd made sure of that.

He walked to his desk. It was cluttered with unfinished projects—old digging plans, paperwork on the villagers the Lorkon asked him to complete every year, and other random items. He moved a stack of papers from the chair and sat to rest before planning dinner for the villagers.

Aloren's presence caused so many problems. It hardly seemed worth it. Before she came, the villagers ate at long tables in the great room of the town hall. Duana usually cooked, and Eachan served the food and cleaned up. Now, however, the people had become dangerous. They suspected Aloren was still in the hall, and had tried to get at her. They wouldn't allow her the privilege of inhabiting a healthy body without the Lorkon specifically giving it to her.

To protect Aloren, and, Eachan admitted, himself and Duana, they'd been forced to lock themselves in, carefully putting containers of food on the porch, only going outside a couple times a day to retrieve the dishes. They rotated duties so the same person didn't have to risk attack from the people twice in a row.

Eachan rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them from the ever-present grime. Things would be easier if Aloren weren't here.

He wished he had the courage to do something about it.