Bloodline of a Tempest

Chapter 10

The journey became harder and harder and wherever they were heading to, no one believed anymore they were going to reach their destination.

Not all of them alive anyway.

Demian was going from bad to worse. He and Lorn disappeared more often and it took them longer to return each time. Nema lived in fear that one time she'll see Lorn carrying Demian's dead body out of the woods.

The only time he seemed well was when they rode. Nema kept her arms wrapped around his chest, her cheek resting on his back, listening to the rumble of his voice when he responded to some of her questions or when he laughed. It didn't happen often and it was a reaction only to those cynical, dark-humored jokes but even men seemed glad to see their commander smile.

Nema developed a rather strange bond with the fire-feeders. Lorn was his usual mean self but he always made sure she got the full portion no matter the state of the food supplies and her water canteen was never empty.

Yesterday Nema heard Dener say 'thank you' when she finished changing his bandage and it seemed she wasn't the only one who heard that word coming from the soldier's mouth for the first time. Ax remained all silent with his ominous predictions but every night, just after the dinner, he told them one of the tales from the Old World.

No one would admit but Ax's stories became the single most anticipated thing for each one of them, so much that even Demian stuck a bit longer after the dinner, keeping away from the rest of them, but close enough to hear the words of their noble bard. When the journey was too long and too hard Lorn was the one who bribed Ax with all kinds of goods he had stolen or captured on his journeys.

'You haven't started without me?' Nema came back running. Her stomach didn't appreciate the hurry. It was hard enough to deal with Lorn's cooking.

Demian was frowning at her. 'I'll make the fire,' he said.

'No!' Everyone cried at the same time.

Nema because she didn't want him to hurt himself further by using his magic and the boys because of something that had to do with the Watchers. 

The greatest thing about fire-feeders was that everybody was after them - the Watchers, the smugglers, the pirates, all of king's men and a number of other random men they managed to anger in some way.

'Build the fire, Ax,' Demian ordered still frowning at her. He stood five feet away, resting against a tree, his arms crossed on his chest looking like he might collapse every moment now. He was apparently healthy enough to glare.

Nema glared back.

It became a sort of a ritual of theirs. Every once in a while Demian would seem scandalized by some of her actions and Nema would patiently stare back until he decided to reveal the reason of his disagreement or he just stormed away. Since he was getting weaker instead of storming away he had to satisfy with a brisk demonstrative walk. Lorn now really hated her.

'You're soaking wet,' Demian pointed at her hair. It was still dripping.

Nema had to subject her poor organism to one of the hart stopping dips in the lake and she had to hurry back before the story-time. 

She wasn't going to apologize for not being presentable.

When Ax cleared his throat for the third time Demian finally paid attention. 'There's no more flint.' He said, not daring to look at his captain.

'Oh fire and thunder,' a flame flashed on Lorn's palm setting the wood on fire a moment later, 'just sit down and tell the story.'

'This is an unnecessary risk,' Dener warned. 'The last thing we need now are the Watchers.'

'Why is fire a problem?' Nema asked. They needed fire to scare away the wild beasts and it was never a problem before.

Nema made her peace with the fact that fire-feeders never respond to your question so she gave up, trying to warm her limbs instead.

'Whenever someone uses their powers,' Demian surprised her by saying, 'a remnant of the flare of their light remains within their field.'

Nema was too proud to admit she didn't understand. All she ever managed to read were second-hand books she stole and the most she saw of the world was the journey when a fire-feeder abducted her.

'Do you know how they call people like you?' Lorn grinned. 'There is  even a song-'

Nema heard a swooshing sound and suddenly the tip of Dorian's sword was pressed against Lorn's neck, blade gently resting on his shoulder. 'Don't you dare use that word.' Dorian almost whispered, his low raspy voice all the more menacing.

'What do they say, Lorn?' Ax laughed, basking on the grass.

But Lorn was looking at Nema, suddenly all pleased as if his point was proven. 'Nothing. They say nothing.'

Demian put down his sword and no one said a word for the longest time.

When Demian pushed away from the tree and decided to sit next to her she tried not to breathe.

'Before the Unification,' Demian said, his eyes soft again, 'we called it light.'

Nema said nothing, embracing her ignorance like the dearest friend. He was next to her, his dark eyes resting upon her face and nothing else seemed to matter that much.

'What Goorak men call 'the soul' and Solbellians call 'the force' – that's our light, that flame that sleeps inside your chest.'

Nema was nodding like a fool. Even if he was talking about the ruination of this world she would listen just as passionately.

'When you use powers or make magic as they say,' Demian said with some effort, 'the remnants of those flares project into your field – the space around you. Beings like the Watchers can detect those flares. That's how they find and capture those with powers.'

Nema understood that. Mages always said Watchers were beings that kept those like Nema safe. If someone abused their powers or hurt another being with non-magical blood they arrived and protected you.

'Why would Watchers come here? Because you're fugitives?'

All four men laughed hard.

'Nema,' Demian said, 'have you ever wondered why, every cycle, there are less and less Atrians born with powers. They,' he stressed the word, 'sucked dry the last drop of power of our Source. The magic is dying away. Not because there is something wrong with us but because they use our powers for their dark ways.'

Nema felt wrong just by listening to this speech.

She heard about men like Demian, who appeared in the villages, telling stories like this, about the Old World and how before the Unification we were true to the Source and we lived for hundreds of years and our blood was made of silver. Those men cause trouble and they always ended up hung on some square.

'Demian,' Nema said, 'they could kill you for those words.'

'Let them come,' Demian said, perfectly calm again.

Nema sighed. Fire-feeders were a dangerous race. She remembers how they burned her village to the ground when their army tried to take over the land. They were blinded by their thirst for power. They were wrong. She didn't hate Dorian for being a fire-feeder but his people were the source of every misfortune that ever befell this constellation. She didn't need smart books for that.

He was about to leave, Nema knew that.

'Stay. Please!' Nema whispered, her eyes wide and pleading.

The rest of the men were occupied with the fair distribution of the last reserves of the wine. They seemed to be substantial for when the Lorn raised his canteen, his eyes were glimmering with that dull spark of intoxication. Demian didn't approve, but he never said a word to his men.

'In the honor of the last drops of this elixir,' he pointed at the almost empty bottle, 'I'll let you choose the story for tonight.' Ax said theatrically. Since he realized what kind of commodity his storytelling gift was he gained on importance. During the day he was the ever obedient soldier as they all were, waiting for the commands of his superior, but as soon as the fire was lit he became their most treasured bard and he relished his raise in status.

'My turn!' Nema cried. Ax gave her a dismissive look. In his book she had no say because of the first and the only rule – those with no power are not allowed to vote. If you gave them no reason to fear you, you gave them no reason to respect you.

'If I didn't distract that fellow,' Nema said, brandishing the small knife she peeled the apple with, 'you'd be in trouble, my friend, and you know it.' She looked the bard square in the eyes, daring him to say something.

'I stole the horse, kid,' Ax shrugged, realizing too late Demian was present. It appeared that Demian had threatened them with some sort of gruesome death if they brought her in peril which is exactly what Ax did this morning.

'What happened?' Demian asked her. He had that half-smile on his face again and Nema clammed her mouth shut. With time she learned he was at his most dangerous when he was pleasant. Ax knew that too.

'Tonight, I'm generous,' Ax said, smiling, his eyes never leaving Demian. 'The girl can choose a story.'

Nema didn't miss the panic in his eyes. But she wasn't a traitor. She wouldn't say a word to Demian.

'So,' she sat back, aware she could ask anything she wanted and Ax wouldn't dare to refuse her, 'is there one single love story in your history?'

It was the funniest sight in the world – four fire-feeders looking at each other with the blankest looks.

'Oh, whatever,' Nema waved her hand, after the silence lasted too long, 'tell again the story about the battle for Destery. I like that part when the future king stands alone on the battlefield, surrounded by Sollbelians.'

But they still stared at each other in confusion.

'Ah! There is one!' Ax cried triumphantly. 'The story about our merciful queen.'

'Our last queen,' Lorn said. The reverence in their voice spoke enough about their devotion.

'And how their love outlived the death itself.' Ax was already in his lyrical mood.

'I bet the king wasn't a fire-feeder,' Nema grinned. 'You don't seem to care for much except for warfare.'

'And vengeance!' Demian said.

'And vengeance,' Nema amended.