As The World Catches Fire

Chapter One: The Teeth

My horse's nostrils spilt steam in the glacial air of the Teeth. Beside me, seven more riders trudged their way through the heavy snow, clustered together in a defensive pact, laden with enough supplies to last us more than a week in these godforsaken mountains.

From out of the fir trees, our scout Yulia rode up to me. Under her frost-stuck red scarf, her eyes matched the pale clouds. "We're taking the pass!" she shouted over the howling wind. Her words hit me like a club to the stomach.

I yanked my reins, my horse snorting angrily to a stop. "What? With only one bonder?"

"That pass is the only way we bond a new daemon before that storm sweeps us away. We take it or go home empty-handed."

"But—"

"Those are the Captain's orders, Kain. He has faith in you."

I nodded stiffly. So be it.

"Have a fetter ready," warned Yulia.

We wound our way down the path, my hands frozen to the reins. We'd been in the Teymurçin Mountains—the Teeth, most called them—for a little over three days, and we had yet to see any daemons. The pass to Tahir Vos would bring us a daemon with absolute certainty, but it wasn't the sort of path one took unless they were desperate. Too much could go wrong.

I fell to the back of the pack. Captain Shokarov led us, a red plume in his helmet. Behind him rode six soldiers, clad in the grey-and-black uniform of the Canavar Archon's military. Some trained their hands on the pommels of their runic swords, some kept their ironbows at the ready.

Three of our squad, like Yulia, were masters. Behind their horses, robed and hooded in black, their daemons followed: two humanoids, the third a hunched figure with six scaled limbs. Even trained properly, the horses snorted in fear whenever the daemons came too close. Like us, they knew the daemons were savage, dangerous things. Every creature alive could feel it.

The mountain path wound down sharply. Near the bottom, it vanished between two cliffs, the space between them trapped in blizzard. I gathered myself. We wouldn't get through that pass without a fight.

"Kain!" Captain Shokarov shouted. "Where's that fetter?"

"In progress, sir." I patted my horse's neck and leaned in to whisper "Vorsa." Walk.

I closed my eyes and released my reins. I needed to concentrate.

From the place I locked my memories, caging them in unyielding iron, I drew a bond.

Sage Jawahir's tutelage hummed within me, filling my blood like a bottle of liquor. My head spun, my tongue felt packed down with cotton balls. The roar of the wind dampened to a gentle rush; if I listened close enough, I could hear the snowflakes in the air, the slight crackling of frozen earth, the heartbeats of voles buried deep below.

With a strangled gasp, I tore off my glove. Searing through my skin, a fetter glowed on my palm: a scarlet circle rimmed with ancient glyphs, spinning slowly. White-hot pain shot from the fetter up my arm, threatening to black out my vision, but I bit back the void. I had a responsibility first. Without me, my fellows might not make it through that pass.

Few had my gift. Few hated the daemons enough to desire it.

The pass squeezed us tight. Yulia rode beside me, her daemon not four feet away from my leg. He was a unique sort, his appearance almost disarming. Artem was a being of fire, but his outer shell was a facsimile of a handsome young man, his skin a pale cornflower blue and his hair in loose black curls around two ram's horns. It wasn't until you saw his eyes that you were reminded of the true monster beneath—burning like the pits of hell, flames curling where there should have been an iris and pupil.