Bloodline of a Tempest

Chapter 19

Nema was pushing her way through the crowd. She was surprised to see some of the smugglers talking to a group of fire-feeders. But then again, she wasn't surprised at all.

The fire-feeders were standing in groups, dressed in dark clothes, inspecting their weapons and getting into brawls. The look of cruelty that years of imprisonment in Castor's dungeons gave them now was even more prominent.

She remembered how menacing they seemed to her that day when she arrived with Demian. Only now Nema knew how truly dangerous they were and how little hesitation they had to hurt her.

Nema was looking around, hoping to see a flash of grey fur moving through the trees. Demian could say whatever he wanted, but she knew what she saw.

Even she would never admit Nema was also looking for Lorn. He and Demian were what was left alive of the group that followed her to Seren.

Lorn coming back was a sort of personal victory for her. She was wrong about many things but not about him, and if she was right about Lorn maybe, just maybe not all hope is lost.

'Nema!' A man was calling her.

Nema stopped. She was already well away from the castle, following the path that led to the lake.

A tall man with reddish hair was approaching her. He wasn't a fire-feeder – they never smiled this much.

She waited until he approached. She had one of Demian's daggers in her right boot. That made her just a bit calmer while she walked among the fire-feeders.

'If you are planning an escape, I can steal a horse for you,' the man offered, pointing at the armful of clothes she was carrying. Nema found them this morning at the foot of the bed. The clothes belonged to a man, a very tall one, but the clothes were clean. Nema wouldn't complain.

'I actually planned to swim to Turin's Glaciers,' she grinned.

The man looked like she had slapped him.

'It was a joke,' Nema said, surprised by his reaction. 'I'm going to the lake. To take a swim.'

The man still looked a bit disoriented.

'A swim always feels good after being chained up,' he said. 'The freedom of movement, the ease of water.'

Nema's head snapped up. She couldn't tell if he was mocking her.

The man understood. 'You don't remember me, do you?'

Nema shook her head. 'I am Roell,'he said. 'I was Grin's prisoner.'

'Oh,' Nema remembered. A man she saw inside the cage. 'Yes, the illusionist,' she smiled.

'We don't like being called that way,' he said.

'Oh, I am sorry,' Nema said quickly, 'I've heard it...'

She was going to say she heard it from Lorn, but then she remembered what else Lorn had to say about Roell's kind.

'The fire-feeders despise us,' he said.

'Then, what are you still doing with them?' She nodded her head towards the castle. The words were spoken in a harsher tone than she intended.
It was the question she was afraid to ask herself. What in the world was she doing here with them? She was here because Demian was here, but Demian wanted nothing to do with her.

'I am leaving tomorrow,' Roell said cheerfully. 'You will forgive me that I am not ready yet to die a noble death,' his smile was so infectious Nema was smiling too.

'I was waiting to see you,' he said.

'Why?'

'Because I have something for you,' he winked.

'For me?' She took a step back.

'A surprise,' he said.

'Why?' She was slowly retreating away from him. Nema didn't like surprises - they always ended badly for her.

'Because you saved me from a cage,' he said. 'Roell never forgets what he owes,' he said, returning towards the castle. 'Don't be late!' He called after her.

Nema was almost running across the meadow, a frown marring her delicate features.

She shouldn't have left the temple. She had found nothing but misery in this great wide world.



The lake water wasn't pleasant at all in the late autumn, not even for an Asteralt. Nema was still shaking when she finally entered the room in the tower.

The wind was howling through the broken window. Nema was surprised to find a fire burning in the fireplace.

She was brushing her wet hair, still shaking a little bit when something shiny caught her eye. Nema turned to find a delicate grey fabric someone left on the bed.

It was a dress, a grey long dress embroidered with silver.

Nema carefully placed it back. She was shaking like a wet puppy, in four sizes bigger clothes borrowed from some fire-feeder trying to warm her fingers. The dress looked like something from a dream.

Nema was still looking around the empty room, unsure was it meant for her. She was further confused when she thought she heard laughter and music coming from the yard. She couldn't imagine fire-feeders laughing, let alone enjoying themselves in any manner.

When no one came to claim the dress, Nema decided she had waited long enough. She was giddy with excitement when the soft fabric slipped down her body. There were rows and rows of buttons she was trying to manage with her numbed fingers. Nema had to warm her hands every few moments, making sure she kept the dress away from the flames.

There was no mirror to see how she looked, even the window was broken, but there was a warm faint memory of this fabric. Every family in Atria had a chest where, at the bottom, sprinkled with handfuls of dry lavender, you could find a ceremonial dress like this one.

Her mother had one, Nema remembered. It was sad she couldn't remember her face too. When she looked closely at the embroidery, Nema realized it was her family crest.

Her knees gave way, and she sat down on the bed, her arms heavy with overwhelming emotions. Nema still did not have the name for all the feelings that were finding their way out of her heart. They were like wanderers coming out of a dark woods. Some of those feeling were kind, and some of them left her shattered.

She lost them, both of them, but something was given back to her - her name and a place she belonged. Even that place was lost a long time ago, at this moment, it was everything.

Nema was slowly coming down the stairs, holding her long skirt, afraid the dirt might touch the hem. The sounds and the light was getting stronger and stronger until she found herself at the entrance hall.

Nema could not believe her eyes.

She was looking around her wondering has she finally lost her mind. Terra approached. Her dress was in deep colors of autumn, her dark hair falling to her waist. She was glorious.

'Terra,' Nema whispered, grabbing her arm, 'I don't feel comfortable with...'

'I know, I know,' Terra smiled, 'it is not like that. It is an illusion,but there are no ill intentions behind it. Tonight,' she pointed at the bright lights in the hall, 'all of this is for you.'

Nema tugged down her sleeves. The bandages were hidden under the soft fabric of the dress, but Nema still felt the dull pulsing of the open gash that wouldn't close where her blood was leaving her body.

The painted glass on the windows shook a little.

'It is in your honor, Nema,' Terra smiled, 'don't ruin it, love. Look how beautiful everything is.'

The entrance hall was unrecognizable. The marble floors were gleaming with the light of thousand candles, the grandiose chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, and the walls were adorned with silver banners.

'My coat of arms,' Nema's eyes widened when she recognized the symbol of the banners.

'This was Roell's way to say thank you. It would do you good, after everything you have been trough. To all of us.'

The rows of tables were filled with food and drink, and Nema couldn't help but smile, looking at the soldiers. It took her almost five minutes before she realized those were fire-feeders.

'Are those...' Nema turned to Terra. The soldiers were laughing, all clean-shaven and dressed in the pale silk.

Terra nodded. 'In their formal vestments.'

'Like in the Old World,' she whispered. Everyone was wearing their coats of arms and their colors. She touched the soft fabric of her dress.

When she came down the stairs, some of the fire-feeders stood up and bowed. There were many of those who were tossing their blackest looks at her, but that wasn't a shocker.

'May I offer you a seat?' Erridan asked when she approached.

Nema's eyes widened in surprise, but she accepted.When she sat down, she was flanked by two fire-feeders. She wasn't breathing.

'Silverstorms always shared a table with us,' he said. Nema's heart skipped a beat when he said that name. 'Your bloodline carries the bravery of our king. Before he fell at Errasten, your father came to our aid with his fleet when Castor was hunting us across the land.'

Nema's hands were shaking a little. 'I don't remember him. They said,' she tried to calm her voice, 'they said Silverstorm is just a myth.'

One of the soldiers next to her frowned. 'Your bloodline was one of the first in the Old World. Those who had tamed tempests and storms were sailing Atria's sees long before Castor occupied this land. Side by side, we fought against his dark armies. We swore to your father that we would protect you.'

Nema was looking at all those faces as if she could catch a reflection of her father in their gazes. These men knew him. These men held a piece of memory of him.

'Your father was so respected among us,' one of the soldiers said, 'that we entrusted his child to one of our most feared generals.'

Nema winced.

'He led the army of ten thousand men,' one of the fire-feeders assured her.

'He never lost a battle,' another added. 'And his enemies feared him.'

Nema kept her mouth shut.

Erridan leaned a bit closer. 'But maybe he wasn't that apt for raising a little girl.'

Nema tried to say something positive. 'He made sure I remained alive.'

'He was the only one who could hold a protection strong enough so Castor couldn't find you with the Sight. Demian didn't know who you were when he kidnapped you. When you opened the portal, Demian took you straight to Seren, because the only four living fire mages still in Atria were there'

Nema was staring at the table.

Some of her wrongs had their reasons, but still, there was little comfort in them.

'Can a fire mage heal Demian?' She asked Erridan. He looked away. No one of the soldiers said anything more.





Walking through the hall Nema suddenly paused. It was a mirror.

She was staring at her own reflection thinking how wonderfully different she looked from what she saw on the water or the glass.

The memories she had of her childhood were buried deep under the layer of hurt, triggered only when she came across something with a striking similarity. Sadly, the rest of her upbringing shared almost nothing with her earliest days of love and comfort.

The same way the fabric of her dress evoked the memory of her mother's vestment, the reflection of her face brought to life the face of her mother.

Nema was standing, transfixed. Her green eyes were looking back from the reflection and despite herself, Nema smiled.

'You look...' Demian appeared behind her, looking just as stunned.

Nema giggled. 'Nice?' She offered help.

Demian shook his head. 'You are beautiful, Nema,' he said, 'I am not talking about that,' he said, 'for you are just as radiant in old clothes of a fire-feeder as you are in this dress.'

Nema looked down. She knew what to do with 'nice'. She didn't know what to do with this.

Demian smiled. 'I wanted to say,' he cleared his throat, 'you look the way you would have looked it life had been the way it should have. Imagine,' he said softly, 'we are now in Errasten, and everybody knows your name. Nema Silverstorm. Your parents are having a party in your honor and people all around the world are coming to see you – our beloved Asteralt.'

Nema couldn't take her eyes off Demian. He was dressed in the ceremonial uniform of the Commander of Zaratheian army. Under the light of the candles, he looked like a noble knight from the tales from the Old World.

'And you look,' she said softly, 'the way you would have looked if he had not killed you father and if you had not been burdened with the weight you were too young to carry.' Nema took his hand. 'Imagine. I saw you as soon as you entered the hall and I asked someone who is that man?'

Demian cleared his throat, touching the collar of his vestment. 'You know what they would say.'

'They would say,' Nema leaned closer, to whisper to him, 'that is the young Captain of the Zaratheian guard. He is trouble. You should stay away from him.' Nema giggled.

Demian laughed. This was the first time she heard him laugh in this way - without bitterness, without darkness. He tilted her head to look into her eyes.

'And would you, Nema,' he asked, his eyes sparkling, 'would you stay away from that fire-feeder you saw at your party?'

'No,' Nema shook her head bravely.

Demian leaned in. 'Are you blushing, Nema?'

Nema touched her feverish cheeks. 'You can't intimidate me, fire-feeder,' she said defiantly.

Demian laughed again. She couldn't' believe how different he looked when he was laughing.

'Why don't you ask me to dance?' She asked.

Demian's smile disappeared from his face. 'Nema...' He pointed at his left arm, covered with the silk cloak, hanging dead beside his body. He was now staring somewhere across the room, his eyes on fire.

'I've never danced,' Nema took a step closer.'Please.'

'Oh, Nema,' Demian shook his head.

He took a careful step forward, then another one, and now he was standing so close to her she could feel his breath on her face. Demian leaned closer, placing his right hand on her back. 'Hold on to me,' he whispered.

Nema smiled, her hands on his chest, her cheek gently brushing his.

'I like this,' Nema said.

'I like this too,' Demian whispered in her hair.

They were moving slowly, following the rhythm of the soft melody.

'When I die,'he said, 'I think the afterlife will smell like the Kindness flower.'

A little gasp escaped her.

'I am sorry,'Demian said. 'I didn't want to make you sad.'

Nema wrapped her arms around him, her face nestled in the crook of his neck. They kept dancing long after the music stopped and long after Roell's illusion disappeared. When Nema looked up, the lights were gone and from all that glory there were only ruins of the castle left.

'It is over,' Nema said. 'I loved it, even there was nothing real about this night.'

Demian was looking her in the eyes. 'What binds me to you, Nema,' he said, 'is like the power of the old days when magic stemmed not from the soft wind or the fire but broke out from the ground and grew and grew and stood for centuries like a forest of the elm trees.'

Nema touched her forehead to his. 'Oh, Demian,' she whispered.

'You should probably leave,' Demian said,pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

'Ne,' Nema looked up, wrapping her arms around his neck,' I am not afraid of the fire, Demian. Not anymore.'

When Demian's lips pressed into hers she could feel the whole universe lighting up.

The whistles and howls shattered the silence.

Nema and Demian looked to see hundreds of fire-feeders cheering.

Only then Nema realized her body was aglow with light.

Demian smiled. 'It is like I am holding a moon in my arms.'